VIRGINIA  OF  ELK  CREEK  VALLEY 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Stories  by 

MARY  ELLEN  CHASE 


Each  one  volume 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 


The  Girl  from  the  Bi£  Horn 
Country 

Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

(Q 

THE  PAGE  COMPANY 
53  Beacon  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 


BHBBB 


VIRGINIA 


'OF 


ELK  CREEK 
VALLEY 


By  MARY  ELLEN  CHASE 

uuititiitiiiiiniuiiMiitiut  Author  of  'JUiiunuiuuuunmiuUA 

"The  Girl  from  the  Big  Horn  Country,"  etc. 

R.   FARRINGTON    ELWELL 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

BOSTON      #      MDCCCCXVII 


Copyright,  1917 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  March,  1917 
Second  Impression,  May,  1917 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  CO.,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 


A  REAL  ONE 


2126150 


CONTENTS 


I,  THE  JOY  OF  ANTICIPATION i 

II.  THE  ARRIVAL n 

III.  THE  GETTING-ACQUAINTED  TRIP  ....     23 

IV.  THE  BEAR  CANYON  BEAR 33 

V.  JEAN  MACDONALD — HOMESTEADER     ...     49 

VI.  Miss   GREEN   AGAIN 68 

VII.  THE  VIGILANTES  HOMESTEAD 88 

VIII.  AUNT  DEBORAH  HUNTER — PIONEER  .      .      .   109 

IX.  MR.  CRUSOE  OF  CRIPPLE  CREEK     ....   126 

X.  A  LETTER  FROM  DOROTHY 146 

XL  "EVER  VIGILANT" 161 

XII.  THE  ROMAN  EMPEROR 180 

XIII.  ON  THE  MESA 198 

XIV.  THE  NEW  SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN  BEAR  CANYON  202 
XV.  MR.  BENJAMIN  JARVIS  ENTERTAINS  .     .      .  216 

XVI.  THE  CINNAMON  CREEK  FOREST  RANGER      .  237 

XVII.  THE  WINTHROP  COAT-OF-ARMS   .     .     .     .251 

XVIII.  A  GOOD  SPORT 262 

XIX.  CARVER  STANDISH  III  FITS  IN     ....  277 

XX.  COMRADES  .........  286 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


"LOOKED  ACROSS  THE  SAGEBRUSH  STRETCHES  TO 

THE  MOUNTAINS  "  (See  page  199)  Frontispiece 

"  THE  TRAIL  WOUND  IN  AND  OUT  AROUND  THE 

MOUNTAIN-SIDE  "  .  .  .  .29 

"  MR.  CRUSOE  GAZED  WONDERINGLY  "  .         .         .130 

"  THEN  FIVE  IN  QUICK  SUCCESSION  CAME  FROM 

VIRGINIA'S  REVOLVER  "  .  .  .  .169 

"  HE  CAME  UP  TO  HER,  A  BROWN  PAPER  PARCEL  IN 

HIS  HAND  "  .  .  .  .  .215 

"  HE  WAS  LEANING  FORWARD  IN  HIS  SADDLE  AND 

CLUTCHING  THE  HORN  "  ....  267 

"DONALD  PULLED  IN  MACDUFF,  AND  YELLED  TO 

CARVER  TO  JUMP  " 282 


VIRGINIA 

OF 
ELK  CREEK  VALLEY 


CHAPTER    I 

THE   JOY   OF   ANTICIPATION 

ELK  CREEK  VALLEY  was  a  blue  and  golden  place 
that  mid-summer  morning  in  the  Big  Horn  Coun- 
try. It  seemed  like  a  joyous  secret  tucked  away 
among  the  mountains,  whose  hazy,  far-away  sum- 
mits were  as  blue  as  the  sky  above  them.  The 
lower  ranges,  too,  were  blue  from  purple  haze  and 
gray-green  sagebrush,  while  the  bare,  brown  foot- 
hills tumbling  about  their  feet  were  golden  in  the 
sunlight.  Blue  lupines  and  great  spikes  of  mountain 
larkspur  made  of  the  Valley  itself  a  garden  which 
sloped  gently  to  the  creek,  and  lost  itself  in  a  maze 


2         Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

of  quaking-asps  and  cottonwoods.  As  for  the  creek 
waters,  they  ceased  their  tumultuous  haste  upon 
nearing  the  garden,  and  were  content  to  move 
slowly  so  that  they  might  catch  and  hold  the  sun- 
light in  their  amber  depths.  Beyond  the  creek,  and 
through  a  gap  in  the  foot-hills,  the  prairie  stretched 
for  miles — blue  and  green  with  oats  and  wheat  and 
alfalfa.  Now  and  then  a  mountain  bluebird  was 
lost  to  sight  among  the  larkspur,  and  always  a  cloud 
of  tiny  blue  butterflies  circled  above  the  creek. 

Two  pair  of  delighted  eyes — one  gray  and  the 
other  blue — gazed  upon  the  loveliness  of  every- 
thing as  their  owners  watered  a  team  of  big  bay 
horses  at  the  ford.  The  gray  eyes  belonged  to  a 
girl  of  seventeen — a  girl  with  golden-brown  hair 
and  cheeks  glowing  red  through  the  tan  of  her  eager, 
thoughtful  face.  She  was  radiant  with  happiness. 
It  beamed  from  her  eyes  and  lurked  about  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth.  She  seemed  too  excited  to  sit 
still.  Now  her  gray  eyes  swept  the  prairie  stretches, 
now  scanned  the  mountains,  now  peered  up  the  creek 
beneath  the  over-hanging  trees.  She  was  talking 
in  short,  eager  sentences  to  her  companion — the 


The  Joy  of  Anticipation  3 

owner  of  the  blue  eyes.  He  was  a  tall,  clean,  robust 
lad — a  year  older  than  she. 

"Oh,  Don,"  she  cried,  "isn't  it  wonderful?  Just 
think  !  Our  dream  is  really  coming  true !  I  used  to 
say  at  school  that  even  if  it  didn't  come  true,  we'd 
have  the  joy  of  dreaming  it  anyway.  But  it's  com- 
ing— this  very  day !  And,  oh,  Don,  isn't  this  morn- 
ing perfect?  When  I  found  in  June  they  were 
really  coming,  I  said  I'd  never  be  selfish  enough  to 
expect  a  perfect  day,  because  it  seemed  as  though 
I'd  had  enough  already !  But  now  it's  come,  I  just 
know  it's" — her  voice  softened — "it's  a  real  gift 
from  God.  Don't  you  think  so,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  Virginia,"  said  the  boy. 

Then  he  gathered  up  the  reins  and  drove  his 
horses  through  the  creek,  and  on  toward  the  Gap 
and  the  open  prairie. 

"Don,"  cried  the  girl,  suddenly  clutching  his  arm 
with  one  hand  and  pointing  with  the  other,  "there's 
some  wild  bergamot  just  opening!  I  never  knew  it 
to  be  as  early  as  this!  And  see!  There's  a  sun- 
flower on  the  edge  of  the  wheat  field!  There'll  be 
thousands  of  them  soon!  They're  like  Priscillat 


4         Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

She  has  such  big,  brown  eyes,  and  is  always  so 
merry  and  sunny.  I  know  you'll  like  her,  Don. 
And  Mary  ?  I  think  Mary's  like  the  larkspur  in  the 
Valley,  don't  you?  So  independent,  and  sort  of — 
of  self-resourceful,  as  Miss  Wallace  says,  and  true. 
I  wonder  what  Vivian's  like?  Oh,  I  know!  The 
bluebells  back  there  by  the  creek.  They  always 
must  have  a  shady  spot  away  from  the  hot  sun. 
That's  like  Vivian,  but  she's  dear  just  the  same, 
and  some  day  I  really  believe  she'll  be  able  to  stand 
hard  things  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  Tell  me,  Don, 
are  you  just  as  excited  inside  as  I  am?" 

Donald  Keith  laughed. 

"Of  course,  I  am,"  he  said,  "only,  you  see,  Vir- 
ginia, I  don't  get  so  excited  on  the  outside  as  you 
do.  Fellows  don't,  I  guess." 

"I  guess  not,"  returned  Virginia  thoughtfully. 
"Father  says  I  need  you  for  a  balance-wheel.  He 
says  he  doesn't  know  what  would  happen  if  we  both 
talked  as  much  and  got  as  excited  as  I  do.  You 
see,  I'm  seventeen  now,  and  I  think  he  wants  me  to 
begin  to  be  a  little  more — more  level-headed,  and 
dignified.  But  I  don't  know  how  to  begin.  Things 


The  Joy  of  Anticipation 


just  spring  up  inside  of  me,  and  they  have  to  come 
out!" 

"Don't  try,"  said  the  boy  bluntly.     "I  like  you 
best  just  as  you  are,  Virginia." 
She  sighed — a  happy,  little  sigh. 
"I'm  glad,"  she  said.    "I  don't  know  what  I'd  do 
if  you  didn't,  Don.     Think  of  all  the  good  times 
we'd  miss!" 

They  passed  a  little  stream,  hurrying  on  toward 
Elk  Creek.  .  Some  quaking-asps  made  a  shady  spot 
where  ferns  grew. 

"Just  the  spot  for  gentians  in  August,"  cried 
Virginia.  "The  girls  will  love  them  so !  I'm  going 
to  try  to  send  some  to  Miss  Wallace.  She'll  be  in 
Chicago,  so  maybe  they'll  go  safely  that  distance. 
She's  always  told  me  so  much  about  that  wonderful 
blue  color  in  the  old  Italian  pictures.  She  says 
that  no  one  has  been  able  to  make  exactly  that  shade 
since.  I  told  her  I  just  knew  our  mountain  gentians 
were  that  blue,  and  I'd  send  her  some.  My!  I 
wish  she  were  coming,  too!  She's  so  lovely!  I 
hope,  when  I  grow  to  be  her  age,  I'll  be  at  least 
just  a  tiny  bit  like  her.  You'd  like  her,  Don." 


6         Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"I'd  like  her  anyway  for  being  such  a  peach  to 
you,"  said  Donald. 

"I'll  never  forget  it,"  Virginia  told  him,  a  little 
break  in  her  voice.  "And  especially  when — when 
Jim  went — Somewhere  Else.  Oh,  Don,  she  was 
so  good  to  me  at  that  time!  And  she  seemed  to 
understand  everything!  I'll  always  love  her  for 
it!" 

Her  gray  eyes  filled  with  tears.  The  boy  beside 
her  placed  his  hand  on  hers  in  quick  sympathy. 

"I  know,"  he  said.  "We  don't  find  a  friend  like 
that  every  day,  Virginia.  I  wish  she  were  coming, 
too !  I'd  like  to  thank  her  myself." 

Virginia  swallowed  the  lump  in  her  throat  and 
smiled  again. 

"I  wish  so,  too,  but  she  can't,  so  we  must  make 
the  best  of  it.  Aunt  Nan  is  next  best.  She'll  love 
everything!  I  know  she  will.  She's  such  a  good 
sport,  too !  She'll  learn  to  ride  and  shoot,  I'm  sure. 
I  hope  she'll  want  to  go  everywhere  with  us,  and 
that  we  won't  seem  too  young  for  her." 

"I  think  Malcolm  may  go  along  some — at  least 
before  threshing  starts.  He  said  he  would. 


The  Joy  of  Anticipation 


Isn't  he  about  your  Aunt  Nan's  age?  He's  most 
thirty." 

"Yes,"  said  Virginia.  "I  never  thought  of  it  be- 
fore, but  I  guess  he  is.  Aunt  Nan's  thirty,  I  know, 
because  I  remember  she  told  me  she'd  always  sort 
of  dreaded  being  thirty,  but  now  she'd  reached 
there  she  found  it  the  most  comfortable  age  in  the 
world.  I  hope  Malcolm  will  go  along.  He's  splen- 
did!" 

"He's  all  right,"  returned  Donald  loyally. 

"Every  one's  been  so  dear  at  home  about  getting 
ready,"  Virginia  went  on.  "William  put  the  finish- 
ing touches  on  the  flower  garden  yesterday.  It 
looks  lovely,  and  Aunt  Nan's  marigolds  are  all  in 
bloom.  William  planted  some  to  make  her  think 
of  home.  And  Alec  and  Joe  and  Dick  insisted  on 
riding  three  of  the  horses  so  they'd  be  ready  for 
the  girls  to  ride  to-morrow.  Hannah's  baked  ev- 
erything I  like  best,  and  Father  bought  two  bran- 
new  tents,  because  the  girls  want  to  sleep  out  with 
me.  Do  Jack  and  Carver  ride,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"Jack  does  a  little.  Of  course,  I  don't  know 
about  Carver  Standish.  You  think  he'll  fit  in  all 


8        Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

right,  don't  you,  Virginia?     Eastern  fellows  don't 
sometimes,  you  know." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  he  will,"  Virginia  assured  him.  "I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  how  pleased  he  was  when 
Father  asked  him  to  come.  And  his  grandfather, 
the  old  Colonel,  nearly  burst  with  pride !  Of  course 
Carver's  different.  I  think  his  father  and  mother 
are  very — well,  New  Englandy!  You  know  what 
I  mean.  But  I'm  sure  he'll  love  it  out  here.  It's 
lovely  of  you  to  have  him  at  your  house,  Don.  He 
could  stay  with  us  as  well  as  not,  of  course,  but 
he'll  be  happier  over  there  with  you  and  Jack  and 
the  boys." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Donald  carelessly. 
"There's  always  room  for  one  more  at  the  Keith 
ranch.  Father  says  there  always  will  be.  Are  all 
the  girls  Vigilantes,  Virginia — Mary  and  Priscilla 
and  Vivian?" 

Virginia  explained.  Mary  wasn't  really  a  mem- 
ber, and  yet  she  really  was,  being  the  advisor  of  the 
society,  and  general  assistant  whenever  called  upon 
to  help. 

"It  certainly  was  a  clever  scheme,"  said  Donald. 


The  Joy  of  Anticipation  9 

"No  one  but  you  would  ever  have  thought  of  such 
a  thing,  Virginia." 

Virginia  discredited  his  praise. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  told  him.  "Priscilla  would  have 
done  it  every  bit  as  well,  only  she'd  never  heard  of 
the  Vigilantes.  You  see,  no  one  in  New  England 
knows  about  them — even  Miss  Wallace  who  knows 
almost  everything — and  when  I  told  Priscilla  the 
things  they  stood  for  years  ago,  and  the  work  they 
did  against  evil-doers  out  here  in  the  pioneer  days, 
we  both  thought  it  would  be  just  the  thing  to  name 
our  society  after  them.  You  see,  Don,  we  had  to 
do  something!  'Twas  necessary  with  Imogene  in- 
fluencing Dorothy  and  Vivian  the  way  she  did,  and 
I've  discovered  that  when  a  thing  just  has  to  be 
done,  there's  always  some  one  to  do  it.  Oh,  Don, 
see  the  wind  blowing  over  the  grain!  It  looks  al- 
most like  the  real  sea  from  Priscilla's  house — all 
blue-green  and  wavy — only  I  love  the  prairie  sea 
better.  Won't  they  all  just  love  it  ?  It's  such  a  big 
country!  I'm  getting  excited  again.  That  queer 
feeling  inside  has  come  back,  and  it's  a  whole  hour 
before  we  get  there,  and  before  the  train  comes  in." 


10       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"What  do  you  suppose  they're  doing  now  ?"  asked 
Donald,  excited  in  his  turn. 

"I  suppose,"  began  Virginia — "oh,  Don,  there's 
another  bergamot! — I  suppose  they're  all  out  on  the 
observation  platform,  looking  at  everything  they 
can  see.  Mary  isn't  saying  much — she's  just  look- 
ing, and  Vivian  is  surprised  at  all  the  new  sights — 
I  can  just  see  how  round  and  blue  her  eyes  are! — 
and  Aunt  Nan  is  pointing  out  things,  so  as  to  be 
sure  no  one  will  miss  one  of  them.  Somehow  I 
can't  exactly  picture  Jack  and  Carver,  but  I  know 
what  Priscilla  is  doing.  I  don't  even  have  to  imag- 
ine or  suppose.  I  know  she's  just  wild — outside  and 
in!  I  can  just  see  her  jumping  from  one  side  of 
the  platform  to  the  other,  and  exclaiming  at  every- 
thing. Her  hair  is  all  blown  about  her  face — she 
has  such  unruly  hair  anyway — and  her  eyes  are  al- 
most black,  she's  so  excited  over  being  so  near.  You 
see,  I  know  Priscilla.  She's  a  lot  like  me.  She  just 
can't  keep  still  when  she's  happy !  I  know  she's  got 
the  same  queer  feeling  inside  that  I  have.  Oh,  drive 
faster,  Don!  I  just  don't  believe  I  can  wait  to  see 
them  all!" 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  ARRIVAL 

VIRGINIA  HUNTER  was  right.  Priscilla  Win- 
throp,  her  roommate  at  St.  Helen's,  and  junior 
partner  in  the  formation  of  the  Vigilante  Order, 
had  not  been  still  for  ten  minutes  since  five  A.  M. 
At  that  hour  she  had  risen  from  bed,  dressed  hur- 
riedly, and  bribed  the  sleepy  porter  to  allow  her  a 
seat  on  the  observation  platform.  It  was  contrary 
to  custom  and  orders  at  that  hour,  but  he  had  done 
it  notwithstanding.  Apparently  this  young  lady 
would  take  no  refusal. 

Priscilla  had  moved  her  chair  to  the  extreme  rear 
of  the  platform  that  nothing  on  either  side  might 
escape  her  eager  eyes.  She  had  watched  the  sun 
rise  from  behind  the  first  mountain  spurs,  and  gild 
their  barren  summits  and  sagebrush-covered  sides. 
They  looked  so  gaunt  and  lonely  standing  there, 

she  thought,  like  great  gods  guarding  the  entrance 

11 


12       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

to  an  enchanted  land.  Between  her  and  them 
stretched  the  plains — here  white  with  alkali,  there 
barren  with  sparse  sagebrush.  Not  infrequently 
the  train  rumbled  across  a  little  creek  or  irrigation 
ditch  around  which  cottonwoods  grew  and  grass 
was  green.  In  these  fertile  spots  there  were  always 
rude  houses  of  logs  with  outlying  shacks  and  cor- 
rals. Priscilla  had  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  liv- 
ing in  such  places.  These  must  be  other  pioneers, 
she  said  to  herself,  whose  ancestors  Virginia  de- 
lighted to  honor.  Well,  they  most  certainly  de- 
served it! 

She  had  hardly  kept  her  seat  at  all.  There  was 
constantly  something  on  one  side  or  the  other  which 
attracted  her  attention,  and  she  darted  right  and 
left  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  brakeman  who 
sat  within  the  car  and  watched  her.  As  they  hur- 
ried through  one  of  the  irrigated  spots,  she  heard  a 
bird  sing — a  clear,  jubilant,  rollicking  song.  Could 
it  be  the  meadow-lark  of  which  Virginia  had  always 
spoken?  At  six  they  had  passed  through  a  prairie- 
dog  town,  whose  inhabitants  had  thus  far  existed 
for  Priscilla  only  in  books  and  in  Virginia's  stories. 


The  Arrival  13 


Her  fascinated  eyes  spied  the  little  animals,  as  for 
one  instant  they  stood  upright  to  survey  this  rude 
and  noisy  intruder,  and  then  darted  into  their  house 
doorways.  She  had  knocked  over  two  camp  chairs 
in  her  excited  efforts  to  reach  the  brakeman,  and 
assure  herself  that  they  were  really  prairie 
dogs. 

But  the  climax  had  occurred  shortly  afterward 
when  while  going  through  a  country  of  sagebrush 
stretches  and  grim,  almost  naked  buttes,  she  had 
seen — actually  seen  a  cow  boy!  He  was  true  to 
every  description  Virginia  had  ever  given  her — 
sombrero,  bandana,  chaps  and  all!  She  could  not 
see  his  face,  but  she  knew  he  must  be  fine-looking 
like  the  "Virginian"  or  like  Dick  at  the  Hunter 
ranch.  He  was  galloping  through  the  sagebrush  on 
a  mottled,  ugly-looking  broncho,  doubtless  bent  on 
some  secret  errand. 

Priscilla  was  seized  with  half  a  dozen  impulses  as 
she  watched  him.  Should  she  hurry  through  four 
cars  and  tell  the  others  that  they  might  see  him  also? 
Should  she  send  the  porter?  How  any  one  could 
sleep  at  such  a  time  as  this  was  far  beyond  her  com- 


14        Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

prehension!  But  she  had  remained,  rooted  at  last 
to  one  spot,  and  watched  him  until  he  was  lost  to 
sight.  How  would  it  seem,  she  wondered,  to  gallop 
alone  through  this  country?  She  hoped  the  cow 
boy  had  noticed  the  sun  rise  over  the  buttes;  she 
hoped  that  even  now  he  was  not  blind  to  the  great 
mountains  in  the  distance,  which  were  reaching 
their  blue  summits  toward  the  sky. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  the  thin,  clear  moun- 
tain air!  So  this  was  Virginia's  country!  It  was 
a  big  land !  She  understood  now  what  Virginia  had 
meant  by  talking  about  the  bigness  of  everything. 
The  plains,  stretching  on  and  on,  gray-green  with 
sagebrush,  the  gaunt  mountain  spurs,  the  far-away 
real  mountains,  blue  and  snow-furrowed,  the  great, 
clear  sky  over  all!  It  must  be  wonderful  at  night 
with  countless  stars  and  a  moon  looking  down  upon 
the  loneliness  of  everything.  There  was  something 
about  it  all  that,  in  some  strange  way,  pulled  out 
one's  very  soul — that  made  one  want  to  be  big  in 
thought,  tolerant,  kind! 

The  brakeman,  perhaps  alarmed  at  seeing  his  in- 
teresting passenger  actually  standing  still,  had  joined 


The  Arrival  15 


her  at  that  moment.  Priscilla  pointed  to  a  speck  in 
the  sagebrush — the  vanishing  cow  boy. 

"A  real  cow  boy!"  she  shouted  above  the  rumble 
of  the  wheels. 

"Humph !"  grunted  her  companion.  "Didn't  you 
never  see  one  before?" 

"Never!"  cried  Priscilla  fervently. 

"It  ain't  no  great  sight!"  returned  the  sophisti- 
cated brakeman. 

"Perhaps  not  to  you,"  Priscilla  shouted  in  his 
ear,  "but  it  would  be  if  you  had  dreamed  of  seeing 
one  for  ten  months  and  three-quarters  the  way  I 
have." 

"Humph!"  grunted  the  brakeman  again.  "You 
must  be  a  tenderfoot." 

"I  am,"  cried  Priscilla,  "and  I'm  glad  of  it!  You 
can  only  see  bran-new  things  once.  The  second 
time  you  see  them  they  aren't  new  any  longer,  and 
can't  give  you  thrills  like  the  first  time." 

The  brakeman  grinned. 

"There's  some  yucca,"  he  shouted,  pointing  to  a 
tall,  straight  plant  with  white,  bell-shaped  flowers 
growing  by  the  track. 


16       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"What's  that?"  screamed  the  interested  Priscilla. 
"Sometimes  folks  call  it  Indian  soap-weed,"  ex- 
plained the  brakeman  in  her  ear,  "because  if  you 
break  the  leaves  they'll  lather  in  water.  And  some 
folks  call  it  Spanish  bayonet.  It  grows  in  barren 
places  out  here." 

"I'll  put  that  in  my  Thought  Book,"  Priscilla 
told  him.  "I  guess  it's  lucky  I  have  a  new  one  with 
all  these  new  things  to  write  about.  Why  are  all 
the  trees  out  here  those  tall  cottonwoods  ?" 

"They  ain't  all,"  answered  the  obliging  brakeman, 
"but  the  cottonwoods  don't  take  so  much  soil.  They 
grow  easy  and  quick,  and  make  good  wind-breaks, 
so  folks  plant  'em  when  they  build  a  house  near  a 
creek  like  that  one  over  there.  Quaking-asps — they 
grow  well,  too." 

"Quaking-asps!"  cried  Priscilla.  "Where  are 
they  ?  Please  show  me !  I'd  give  worlds  to  see  one ! 
My  roommate  lives  out  here — I'm  just  on  my  way 
to  visit  her— and  it's  her  favorite  tree." 

"You  don't  have  to  give  nothin',"  shouted  her 
companion  dryly.  "There's  plenty  of  'em  right  along 
this  creek  we're  passing.  They're  them  little  trees 


The  Arrival  17 


with  light  green  trunks  and  trembly  leaves.  They 
grow  by  creeks  and  in  springy  places  mostly." 

Priscilla  leaned  over  the  railing  and  gazed. 

"Oh,  aren't  they  happy?  They're  the  jolliest 
trees  I  ever  saw !" 

"I  guess  that  is  a  good  word  for  'em,"  agreed  the 
brakeman.  "They  sure  do  dance  around." 

"Doesn't  anything  grow  on  those  hills  but  little 
trees  and  sagebrush  ?"  queried  Priscilla.  "It  is  sage- 
brush, isn't  it  ?  I  guessed  it  was  from  pictures,  and 
from  what  Virginia  said." 

"Yes,  it's  sagebrush,  ma'am,  and  nothin'  much 
grows  on  them  buttes  except  that  and  rattlers." 

"Oh !"  screamed  Priscilla.  "That's  one  thing  I'd 
hate  to  see !  You  don't  think  I  will,  do  you  ?" 

"Like's  not,"  encouraged  the  brakeman.  "They 
ain't  so  bad.  Must  come  in  handy  for  something, 
else  we  wouldn't  have  'em." 

Just  then  Carver  Standish  had  opened  the  door 
for  Aunt  Nan,  who  announced  breakfast  for  the 
party.  Priscilla  was  obdurate. 

"Miss  Webster,"  she  remonstrated,  "please  don't 
make  me  eat !  I  simply  couldn't  do  it !  I've  had  the 


18       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

most  wonderful  morning  of  my  whole  life.  I've 
seen  prairie-dogs  and  yucca  and  quaking-asps  and 
a  cow  boy,  and  I  know  I  heard  a  meadow-lark. 
This  gentleman  has  taught  me  all  kinds  of  things." 

The  brakeman  touched  his  hat. 

"He's  been  very  kind,  I'm  sure,"  said  Aunt  Nan, 
too  used  to  her  own  niece's  methods  of  making  new 
friends  to  be  troubled.  "But  we're  going  to  reach 
Virginia  and  Donald  in  another  hour,  and  you  must 
have  some  breakfast,  Priscilla." 

"Carver  will  bring  me  some  fruit,"  persisted 
Priscilla,  "and  you  can't  see  a  thing  from  the  win- 
dow. Oh,  please,  Miss  Webster!  I  just  can't  eat 
when  I  have  this  queer  feeling  inside  of  me !" 

So  Priscilla  had  been  left  in  peace,  much  against 
the  better  judgment  of  the  chaperone;  and  now  at 
nine  o'clock,  the  three  Vigilantes  with  Aunt  Nan, 
Jack  Williams  and  Carver  Standish  III  viewed  Vir- 
ginia's country  together  and  all  for  the  first  time. 
The  picture  which  Virginia  was  at  that  very  mo- 
ment painting  for  Donald  was  very  accurate — even 
to  detail.  Aunt  Nan,  eager  that  no  one  should  miss 
a  thing,  kept  pointing  out  this  and  that  feature  of 


The  Arrival  19 


interest — the  strange,  new  flowers  by  the  track,  the 
occasional  log  houses,  the  irrigation  ditches,  so  new 
to  them  all.  Vivian  sat  quietly  in  one  corner — her 
eyes  big,  round,  almost  frightened.  The  endless 
stretches  of  country,  the  lonely  barren  places,  and 
the  great  mountains  somehow  scared  Vivian.  It 
was  the  loneliest  country  she  had  ever  seen,  she  told 
Aunt  Nan.  Mary  Williams  said  nothing,  but  her 
dark  blue  eyes  roamed  delightedly  from  prairie  to 
foot-hills,  and  from  the  foot-hills  to  the  mountains, 
where  they  lingered  longest.  In  all  her  dreams  she 
had  never  pictured  anything  so  big  and  wonderful 
as  this.  Jack  and  Carver  stood  together  by  the  rail- 
ing, and  let  nothing  escape  their  eager  eyes;  while 
Priscilla,  forgetting  to  eat  Carver  Standish's  ba- 
nana, hurried  from  one  to  another  with  eager  ex- 
planations gained  from  her  morning's  experience. 

In  half  an  hour  they  would  be  there.  Already  the 
barren  stretches  had  given  place  to  acres  and  acres 
of  grain,  across  which  were  comfortable  ranch- 
houses,  set  about  by  cottonwoods.  Beyond  the 
grain-fields  rose  the  foot-hills — open  ranges  where 
hundreds  of  cattle  were  feeding,  and  far  above  the 


20       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

foot-hills  towered  the  mountains  in  all  their  blue- 
clad  mystery. 

"There's  the  creek  bridge!"  cried  Priscilla, 
springing  to  her  feet  a  few  minutes  later.  "Vir- 
ginia has  written  me  a  dozen  times  that  when  we 
crossed  that  red  bridge  we  should  begin  to  get 
ready.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  comb  my  hair.  It's 
a  sight!  But  Virginia'll  be  so  happy  she'll  never 
notice  in  all  this  world!" 

Virginia  was  assuredly  too  happy  to  notice  di- 
sheveled heads  or  smoke-stained  faces  or  wrinkled 
suits  when  she  saw  her  own  dear  Aunt  Nan  and  her 
very  best  friends  step  excitedly  from  the  train  onto 
the  little  station  platform.  That  queer  sinking 
feeling  inside  vanished,  and  only  joy  was  left. 

"It's  come  true !  It's  come  true !"  she  kept  crying 
as  she  greeted  them  all.  "Just  think,  Priscilla,  it's 
really  happening  this  minute!  You're  all  in  my 
country  at  last — Donald's  and  mine!" 

So  the  world  looked  very  beautiful  to  them  all  as 
they  drove  homeward.  The  three  boys  on  the  front 
seat  became  acquainted  and  re-acquainted,  while  the 
Vigilantes  and  Aunt  Nan  behind  held  one  another's 


The  Arrival  21 


hands  and  asked  question  after  question  of  the  happy 
Virginia.  No,  she  told  them,  the  days  weren't  all 
as  perfect,  but  most  of  them  were.  Yes,  the  sun- 
flowers grew  wild  all  in  among  the  grain.  No,  there 
were  no  snakes  very  near.  Yes,  it  was  truly  sixty- 
five  miles  away  to  the  farthest  mountains.  No,  she 
had  never  been  so  happy  in  all  her  life. 

They  stopped  at  the  Keith  ranch  to  receive  a  copy- 
righted Western  welcome,  and  to  leave  Jack  and 
Carver.  Donald  would  drive  the  girls  home,  and 
then  return.  Mr.  David,  Mother  Mary,  Malcolm 
and  little  Kenneth — all  the  Keith  family — came  to 
greet  them.  It  seemed  to  Jack  Williams  as  though 
he  had  never  received  a  welcome  so  genuine ;  and  to 
the  hungry  and  tired  Carver  Standish  III  the  simple 
brown  ranch-house,  surrounded  by  cottonwoods  and 
set  about  by  wide  grain-fields,  possessed  a  charm 
unsurpassed  by  the  most  stately  mansions  of  New 
England. 

The  Vigilantes  and  Aunt  Nan  received  as  genuine 
a  welcome  a  half  hour  later  when  they  drove  down 
the  long  avenue  of  cottonwoods  to  Virginia's  home. 
It  came  not  only  from  a  tall,  bronzed  man,  who 


22       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

shared  his  little  daughter's  joy,  but  also  from  a 
white-aproned,  kind- faced  woman  in  the  doorway, 
and  a  quiet,  stooped  man  by  Aunt  Nan's  marigolds. 

"I  know  it's  Hannah,"  cried  Priscilla,  running  to 
the  doorway.  "She  looks  just  as  though  she  knew 
all  about  the  German  measles!" 

"And  I'm  sure  this  is  William,"  said  Mary  a 
little  shyly,  as  she  shook  hands  with  the  quiet  man 
by  the  garden.  "It  just  couldn't  be — any  one  else!" 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   GETTING-ACQUAINTED   TRIP 

"!F — if  you'll  excuse  me,  Virginia,  I'd — I'd  really 
rather  stay  at  home  with  Hannah  and  your  father." 

It  was  Vivian  who  spoke.  She  was  clad  in  a  new 
riding-suit,  which  had  been  worn  only  during  a  few 
trembling  and  never-to-be-forgotten  moments  of  the 
day  before,  when  Donald  had  led  the  oldest  and 
safest  horse  on  the  ranch  to  and  fro  beneath  the 
cottonwoods.  Old  Si  wash  would  never  have 
thrown  Vivian.  Far  was  it  from  him  to  treat  a 
guest  of  his  mistress  in  that  manner.  But  in  spite 
of  stirrups,  saddle-horn,  and  the  reassuring  pres- 
ence of  Donald,  Vivian  had,  in  some  mysterious 
way,  slipped  from  the  saddle,  and  fallen  in  an  ig- 
nominious little  heap  by  the  wayside. 

It  had  been  more  ignominious  to  have  Priscilla 
and  Mary,  who  had  themselves  been  riding  but  an 
hour,  come  cantering — actually  cantering — up  with 

23 


24       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

Virginia  to  see  if  she  were  hurt.  She  almost  wished 
she  had  been  hurt.  If  her  leg  had  been  broken,  or 
old  Siwash  had  kicked,  or  even  her  face  been  cut 
just  a  little,  she  might  have  been  regarded  not  ex- 
actly as  a  heroine,  perhaps,  but  as  a  martyr  at  least. 
However,  nothing  was  broken  except  her  spirit ;  old 
Siwash  had  stood  stock-still;  and  her  face  had 
shown  no  sign  of  anything  save  fright  and  dirt. 
The  whole  situation  was  quite  too  much  to  be  borne, 
and  did  not  need  the  disdainful  glance  which  the 
critical  blue  eyes  of  Carver  Standish  had  cast  upon 
her. 

The  Vigilantes  had  been  lovely  as  they  led  their 
horses  and  walked  to  the  house  with  her;  Aunt  Nan, 
who  had  had  her  first  lesson  with  Malcolm  Keith 
that  morning,  was  comforting;  Mr.  Hunter  encour- 
aging ;  and  Donald  the  finest  boy  she  had  ever  known 
in  her  life.  It  had  really  seemed  as  though,  with 
them  all  to  stand  by  her,  she  could  mount  again  the 
next  morning  and  go  on  the  much-dreamed  of  get- 
ting-acquainted  trip  to  Lone  Mountain.  But  now 
the  time  to  go  had  come,  and  her  courage  had  fled. 
She  had  beckoned  Virginia  from  the  corral  where 


The  Getting-Acquainted  Trip        25 

the  men  were  saddling  the  horses,  and  drawn  her 
away  to  a  secluded  spot.  Virginia  did  not  need 
Vivian's  confession.  Her  frightened  face  was  quite 
enough. 

"I — I  just  can't  do  it,  Virginia !"  she  finished. 

Virginia  considered  for  a  long  moment.  Then 
her  clear  gray  eyes  met  Vivian's  frightened  blue 
ones. 

"Vivian,"  she  said,  "perhaps  you'll  be  angry  with 
me  for  speaking  so  plainly  to  you,  but  I've  just  got 
to  do  it.  If  you  don't  want  the  Vigilantes  to  be 
dead  ashamed  of  you,  here's  your  chance  this  min- 
ute! I  believe  way  down  in  my  heart  that  things 
come  to  us  so  that  we  can  show  what's  really  in  us 
— how — how  far  down  we've  been  putting  our  roots 
into  good  soil,  you  know.  Now  this  has  come  to 
you !  There  isn't  a  thing  to  be  afraid  of  except  just 
Fear,  which  I  admit  is  a  monster;  but  if  you  let  that 
control  you,  you'll  spoil  your  whole  life.  Jim  used 
to  teach  me  that.  Si  wash  wouldn't  hurt  a  baby !  I 
rode  him  when  I  was  four  years  old.  We're  just 
going  to  trail  up  the  mountain  as  slowly  as  can  be, 
and  Don  will  ride  with  you  every  minute.  When 


26       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

there  are  really  things  to  be  afraid  of,  people  ex- 
cuse a  coward ;  but  when  there  isn't  a  thing  in  this 
world,  they  don't!  So  if  you  don't  come,  Vivian, 
and  show  us  what  you  are  made  of,  you're  a  coward 
inside,  that's  all!" 

It  was  hard,  blunt  doctrine,  built  on  seventeen 
years  of  wholesome  life  in  a  land  where  cowardice 
has  found  no  room;  but  at  that  moment  it  was  just 
what  Vivian  Winters  needed.  From  her  frightened 
heart  the  fear  of  Si  wash  fled  only  to  give  place  to  a 
more  dreadful  fear,  the  contempt  and  scorn  of  the 
Vigilantes.  Better  be  thrown  by  Siwash  than  de- 
spised by  Virginia  and  Priscilla,  Mary  and  the  far- 
away Dorothy.  She  had  no  time  to  tell  Virginia 
that  she  would  go  after  all,  and  to  ask  her  to  try  to 
forget  her  cowardice,  for  the  boys  called  just  then 
that  all  was  ready.  But  Virginia  understood,  for 
as  they  hurried  toward  the  corral  she  held  Vivian's 
hand  closely  in  her  own,  and  gave  it  a  final,  encour- 
aging squeeze,  as  Vivian  edged  a  cautious  way  to- 
ward Siwash  and  the  faithful  Donald. 

After  all,  it  was  not  so  hard.  Donald  allowed  the 
others  to  go  ahead — the  two  pack-horses  first  with 


The  Getting-Acquainted  Trip        27 

tents  and  provisions,  for  they  were  to  camp  for  the 
night,  then  Malcolm,  Aunt  Nan  and  the  others.  He 
and  Vivian,  riding  slowly,  brought  up  the  rear. 
Vivian,  determination  rising  in  her  soul,  was  firmly 
seated  and  clutching  the  saddle-horn.  She  might  be 
thrown,  but  she  would  never,  never  fall  again !  But 
old  Siwash  was  faithful  to  his  trust,  and  Donald 
was  close  at  hand.  Vivian  vowed  inwardly  that  she 
would  always  bless  Donald.  Under  his  calm  assur- 
ance, her  fear  gradually  went  away,  and  in  fifteen 
minutes  she  was  willing  to  let  go  her  hold  upon  the 
saddle-horn,  and  to  try  to  follow  his  instructions. 
He  taught  her  how  to  place  her  feet  in  the  stirrups, 
how  to  clutch  with  her  knees,  how  to  rise  in  the 
saddle  for  a  trot,  how  to  sit  back  for  a  canter ;  until 
at  length — wonder  of  wonders! — Vivian,  her  hair 
flying  in  the  wind,  her  eyes  filled  with  triumph, 
actually  cantered  with  Donald  at  her  side  toward  the 
others,  who  to  a  rider  turned  in  their  saddles  and 
cheered  her  approach.  And  pride  filled  every  one's 
eyes — even  the  critical  ones  of  Carver  Standish  III. 
So  now  that  the  worst  was  over,  no  one  enjoyed 
the  trip  more  than  Vivian.  She  kept  wondering 


28       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

what  her  timid  mother  would  say  could  she  see  her 
daughter  in  the  suit  which  hours  of  pleading  had 
with  difficulty  procured,  and  on  a  real  Western 
horse,  riding  past  the  grain-fields,  up  the  canyon, 
and  on  into  the  trail  that  led  up  the  mountain-side. 

Only  three  of  the  nine  had  ever  ridden  through 
a  canyon  or  followed  a  mountain  trail,  and  those 
three  experienced  the  keenest  delight  in  pointing  out 
every  object  of  interest  to  the  others — the  blue  lu- 
pines and  pink  cranesbill,  which  made  the  occasional 
open  spaces  riotous  with  color,  the  forget-me-nots 
growing  in  shady  places,  and  the  rare  orchids,  which 
they  discovered  after  they  had  penetrated  to  the 
heart  of  the  mountain  forest. 

It  was  beautiful  in  among  the  timber.  Great 
spruces  and  pines  towered  above  them  like  masts 
to  the  journeying  earth.  The  sunlight  fell  in  shim- 
mering, golden  patches  upon  the  moss-grown  and 
leaf -covered  ground.  In  the  more  open  places  grew 
buckbrush  and  the  service-berry,  Oregon  grape  with 
its  holly-shaped  leaves,  blue  lupines,  Indian  paint- 
brush and  great  mountain  ferns.  It  was  very  still 
when  they  stopped  their  horses  to  rest.  Only  the 


THE   TRAIL   WOUND   IN   AND   OUT  AROUND   THE   MOUNTAIN- 
SIDE " 


The  Getting-Acquainted  Trip        29 

wind  in  the  great  trees  above  them,  the  chatter  of  a 
squirrel  remonstrating  against  this  intrusion  into  his 
solitude,  a  strange  sad  bird-note  farther  up  the 
mountain,  and  the  occasional  fall  of  a  leaf  or  creak 
of  a  limb  as  it  rubbed  shoulders  with  its  neighbor, 
broke  the  silence.  Once  in  a  clearing  a  deer  and  her 
fawn  gazed  at  them  with  wondering  eyes  before 
leaping  through  the  ferns  into  the  safe  shelter  of 
the  timber. 

Up — up — up  they  went.  The  trail  wound  in  and 
out  around  the  mountain-side,  and  their  sure-footed 
horses  followed  it,  never  daunted  by  fallen  trees  or 
by  rocky  and  precipitous  places.  More  than  once 
every  Vigilante  save  one  held  her  breath  as  she  was 
carried  up  a  dangerous,  almost  obliterated  path  to 
heights  beyond.  But  Virginia's  Pedro,  who  was  far- 
famed  as  a  trailer,  led  the  way,  and  his  rider  called 
back  reassuring  words  to  those  behind. 

By  noon  the  air  was  cold.  They  were  near  snow, 
Malcolm  said.  A  few  minutes  more  and  they  had 
reached  it — a  veritable  snow-bank  in  late  July.  The 
Vigilantes,  reenforced  by  Aunt  Nan,  challenged  the 
boys  to  a  snow-ball  fight,  and  they  all  dismounted 


30       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

for  the  fray.  Then  came  dinner  of  Hannah's  sand- 
wiches, and  bacon  and  eggs  cooked  over  a  little 
friendship  fire  beyond  the  snow. 

An  hour  later  they  reached  the  mountain-top, 
and  lo!  it  was  spring  again.  The  ground  was  cov- 
ered with  early  spring  flowers — shooting-stars  and 
spring  beauties  and  bearded-tongues.  In  the  shel- 
tered nooks  they  found  dog-toothed  violets,  and 
more  forget-me-nots — both  pink  and  blue. 

It  was  here  that  the  inexperienced  New  England- 
ers  longed  to  camp.  They  wanted  to  wake  in  the 
morning,  they  said,  and  look  far  across  the  blue 
distances,  over  the  tops  of  the  highest  trees,  to  the 
mountains  beyond,  like  Moses  gazing  into  the  Prom- 
ised Land.  But  they  willingly  consented  to  ride 
down  on  the  other  side  to  a  more  sheltered  spot  and 
camp  by  a  tiny  mountain  lake,  when  Malcolm,  aided 
by  Donald  and  Virginia,  explained  that  a  snow- 
storm was  not  an  unlikely  occurrence  away  up  there 
— even  in  July! 

It  was  strange  to  sit  around  the  big  camp-fire  that 
night  after  supper — all  alone  in  a  mountain  wilder- 
ness; strange  to  rehearse  school  incidents  and  to 


The  Getting-Acquainted  Trip        31 

listen  to  Malcolm's  stories  of  hunting  for  elk  and 
antelope  in  that  very  spot;  strangest  of  all  to  go  to 
sleep  on  pine  boughs  and  blankets  which  the  boys  had 
spread  in  their  tents.  The  weird,  lonesome  cry  of 
the  coyotes  startled  more  than  one  sleeping  Vigi- 
lante that  night,  and  Vivian  nestled  closer  beneath 
Aunt  Nan's  protecting  arm.  It  was  not  until  the 
next  morning  when  they  started  for  home  that  they 
knew  of  the  bear,  who,  smelling  the  ham  and  bacon, 
had  wandered  into  camp,  only  to  be  repulsed  by 
Malcolm  and  an  extra  log  on  the  fire. 

In  that  strange,  just-be  fore-dawn  stillness  Vir- 
ginia awoke  to  miss  Priscilla  from  her  side.  She 
moved  the  tent  flap,  and  looked  out.  Priscilla  stood 
by  the  entrance,  her  eyes  raised  to  the  distant  moun- 
tains— great  shadows  beneath  a  star-strewn  sky. 
She  was  learning  the  old,  old  secrets  of  those  moun- 
tains at  night. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Virginia,"  she  whispered,  as 
she  crept  back  a  few  moments  later.  "I've  wanted 
so  to  see  what  it  was  like  at  night,  and  now  I  know. 
It's  bigger  than  ever!  I  don't  believe  that  any  one 
could  look  at  the  mountains  and  the  stars  and  ever 


32       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

be  doubtful  about — God  and — and — things  like  that, 
do  you?" 

The  next  day,  perfect  as  the  one  before,  they  went 
down,  down,  down  the  trail,  through  the  canyon, 
across  the  prairie,  and  home  once  more. 

"Mr.  Hunter  named  it  just  right,"  Priscilla  said 
to  Dick,  who  came  to  take  the  horses.  "I've  never 
felt  so  well-acquainted  in  my  life!" 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   BEAR    CANYON   BEAR 

"GEE!"  cried  Alden  Winthrop.  "I  wish  I  was 
out  there !" 

"So  do  I !"  echoed  his  brother  John. 

"I  wish  I  were,  dear,"  corrected  his  mother. 

"Well,  were,  then,  Mother.  There  isn't  much  dif- 
ference in  the  way  you  say  it.  I  wish  I  was  there 
anyway !" 

His  mother  sighed,  but  Alden's  thoughts  were  far 
from  English  grammar.  Instead,  they  were  center- 
ing upon  the  contents  of  a  fat  letter  from  his  sister 
Priscilla,  which  his  father  had  just  read. 

"I've  got  more  respect  for  Priscilla  than  I  ever 
had  in  all  my  life,"  he  continued.  "I  never  supposed 
she'd  have  sand  enough  to  go  on  a  bear  hunt.  Now, 
if  she'd  just  shot  the  bear  herself,  it  would  be " 

"Why,  Alden!"  interrupted  his  mother.  "Imag- 
ine Priscilla  doing  a  thing  like  that!  You  don't 

33 


34       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

suppose,  do  you,  dear,"  she  continued,  turning  to 
Mr.  Winthrop,  who  was  reading  his  daughter's  let- 
ter for  a  second  time  while  he  finished  his  breakfast, 
"you  don't  suppose  Priscilla  is  really  handling  a  gun 
herself?" 

"Sounds  like  it  to  me,"  said  Priscilla's  father  as 
he  turned  the  pages.  "She  says,  'I  can  knock  a  bot- 
tle all  to  pieces  at  thirty  yards.  Don't  you  call  that 
pretty  good  ?' ' 

"I'd  like  to  know  the  size  of  the  bottle  before  re- 
plying," commented  John. 

"Dear  me !"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop  anxiously.  "I'm 
willing  she  should  ride  horseback  and  climb  moun- 
tains and  camp  in  a  perfect  wilderness  if  that's  what 
Western  people  term  pleasure,  but  I  do  wish  she 
wouldn't  shoot  a  gun!  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  have  a 
minute's  real  peace  till  she  gets  home.  Of  course  I 
know  she's  in  the  best  of  hands,  but  accidents  are 
so  common.  Just  yesterday  I  was  reading 
where " 

"Now,  Mother !"  remonstrated  the  boys. 

"Don't  worry  for  a  moment,  Mother,"  reassured 
Mr.  Winthrop.  "She'll  come  home  safe  and  sound. 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  35 

I'll  trust  those  good  people  out  there  to  look  after 
her."  He  turned  the  pages  again.  "She's  certainly 
having  the  time  of  her  life!  Makes  me  wish  I  were 
young  again  myself !" 

"That  skin  will  look  splendid  in  the  library,"  said 
Alden.  "Read  again  what  she  says  about  sending 
it,  Dad." 

"Read  it  all,  Dad!"  suggested  John.  "There's 
plenty  of  time." 

Priscilla's  father  willingly  complied.  He  evi- 
dently shared  his  sons'  pride  in  his  daughter's 
achievement. 

"  'HUNTER  RANCH,  WYOMING, 

"  'July  26,  19— 
"  'DEAR  FOLKS  AT  HOME: 

"  'I  am  covered  with  dust  and  dirt  and  just  dead 
tired,  but  I  can't  wash  or  dress,  or  even  rest  until 
I  tell  you  the  most  thrilling  experience  of  my 
whole  life!  I,  Priscilla  Winthrop  of  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  have  helped  to  trap  and  kill  a. 
bear!  I  know  shivers  are  running  down  your 
back  as  you  read  this,  Imagine  then  what  it  must 


36       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

have  been  to  live  through  the  real  thing !  To  ride 
up  the  trail  all  eagerness  and  excitement ;  to  visit 
the  empty  traps  and  turn  away  disappointed;  to 
see  your  horse  as  you  neared  the  third  suddenly 
prick  up  his  ears  and  rear '  " 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Winthrop.  "I'm  sure, 
John,  those  horses  out  there  aren't  well-broken!" 

Mr.  Winthrop  nodded  reassuringly,  and  contin- 
ued: 

"  'To  hear  Dick  call  back  that  there  must  surely 
be  a  bear;  and,  at  last,  to  come  upon  the  infuri- 
ated monster,  dragging  his  trap  about,  gnashing 

his  teeth,  and  trying  to  reach  you !'  " 

i 

"Oh,  dear !"  moaned  poor  Mrs.  Winthrop. 
"Go  ahead !"  cried  the  boys. 

'  'I  trust  you  are  now  in  the  atmosphere  to  ap- 
preciate my  story. 

'  'I  wrote  you  this  morning  about  the  lovely 
getting-acquainted  trip  to  Lone  Mountain.  Well, 
I  had  just  come  back  from  walking  down  to  the 
main  road  and  giving  my  letter  to  the  carrier, 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  37 

who  drives  in  a  funny  little  canvas  house  on 
wheels,  when  Dick  and  William  rode  up  to  the 
door  and  asked  if  we  girls  didn't  want  to  ride  up 
into  the  mountains  back  of  Bear  Canyon  and 
visit  the  bear-traps.  Mr.  Hunter  and  the  three 
boys  had  gone  to  Willow  Creek,  but  it's  a  fifty 
mile  ride  over  there  and  back,  and  he  thought  it 
was  too  much  for  Mary  and  Vivian  and  me — 
much  as  we  wanted  to  go.' ' 

"Fifty   miles   on   horseback!"    murmured    Mrs. 
Winthrop.    "I  should  hope  so!" 

"  'Virginia  had  insisted  on  staying  with  us,  and 
Aunt  Nan  (we  all  call  her  that  now)  had  gone  to 
Mystic  Lake  with  Donald's  brother,  so  we  four 
girls  were  all  alone.  Virginia  said  "Yes"  on  the 
spot,  and  Mary  and  I  were  wild  at  the  prospect. 
Vivian's  eyes  got  big  when  Dick  said  "bear- 
traps,"  but  she  wouldn't  let  us  know  she  was 
afraid.  Really,  you'd  be  surprised  at  what  a  good 
sport  Vivian's  getting  to  be. 

"  'We  said  we'd  be  ready  in  a  minute  and  hur- 
ried into  our  riding  clothes  while  Dick  and  Wil- 


38       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

Ham  went  to  saddle  our  horses.  All  the  time  we 
kept  fairly  pelting  Virginia  with  questions. 
Where  were  the  traps?  What  did  they  look  like? 
Did  she  really  think  we'd  get  a  bear?  She 
wouldn't  tell  us  much  of  anything,  except  that 
bears  were  not  uncommon  at  all,  and  that  the  men 
liked  to  get  them,  because  they  were  a  nuisance  to 
the  cattle.  I  think  we  were  all  seized  with  differ- 
ent feelings  as  we  got  ready.  Vivian's  came  out 
and  sat  upon  her  face.  You  just  knew  she  was 
hoping  every  bear  in  the  Rockies  had  been  safe  at 
home  for  a  week;  Mary  kept  saying  the  trip  up 
the  trail  would  be  so  beautiful,  but  something 
told  you  she  was  secretly  hoping  for  a  greater 
adventure;  and  I — well,  I  couldn't  decide  between 
the  triumph  of  bringing  a  real  bear  home,  and  the 
awfulness  of  seeing  one  caught  and  killed. 

'  'In  half  an  hour  we  were  off.  Hannah  had 
given  us  each  some  sandwiches  in  a  bundle,  which 
we  rolled  in  our  slickers  and  tied  on  our  saddles. 
Dick  carried  the  big  gun  in  a  holster,  and  William 
a  coil  of  rope.  Instead  of  turning  off  on  the  Lone 
Mountain  trail  we  went  farther  up  the  canyon, 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  89 

past  the  little  school-house  where  Virginia  used 
to  go,  and  on  toward  where  the  canyon  walls  were 
great  cliffs  instead  of  foot-hills.  It  certainly  was 
the  beariest-looking  place  I  have  ever  seen.  You 
could  just  imagine  hundreds  of  them  taking  sun- 
baths  on  the  rocks,  surrounded  by  their  devoted 
families. 

"  'By  and  by  we  turned  into  a  rocky,  precipi- 
tous trail,  and  went  higher  and  higher.  It  was 
much  steeper  than  on  the  getting-acquainted  trip. 
Sometimes  it  just  seemed  as  though  the  horses 
couldn't  make  it,  but  they  did.  My  horse  is  a 
perfect  wonder !  He  never  hesitates  at  anything. 
His  name  is  Cyclone !' ' 

"I  trust  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  disposition," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Winthrop. 

"  'At  noon  we  were  in  a  perfect  wilderness  of 
huge  trees,  great  jagged  rocks,  and  thickets  al- 
most as  bad  as  the  one  Theseus  went  through  to 
reach  Ariadne.  William  insisted  on  building  a 
tiny  fire  to  cook  bacon,  so  we  rustled  some  dry 
sticks  and  made  a  little  one  on  a  flat  rock.  I 


40       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

never  in  all  my  life  tasted  anything  so  good  as 
that  bacon  and  Hannah's  sandwiches  and  some 
ice-cold  water  from  a  little  creek  that  was  tearing 
down  the  mountain-side. 

"  'Dick  said  as  we  rested  for  a  moment  that  it 
would  take  us  fifteen  minutes  to  reach  the  first 
trap  from  that  spot.  It  was  the  most  likely  place 
of  the  three  to  find  a  bear,  he  added,  and  at  that 
Mary,  Vivian,  and  I  tried  our  best  to  look  as  un- 
concerned as  though  catching  a  bear  were  the 
most  usual  thing  in  all  the  world.  But  when  we 
had  reached  the  place,  after  a  hard  ride  through 
a  narrow  trail  bordered  by  all  kinds  of  prickly 
things,  we  found  no  bear  in  the  queer  little  log- 
house  that  held  the  trap.  Neither  was  there  one 
in  the  trap  a  mile  distant. 

"  'When  we  turned  away  from  the  second, 
bearless  and  tired,  every  one  of  us,  except  per- 
haps Vivian,  felt  a  sense  of  defeat.  My  fears  of 
seeing  one  caught  had  vanished.  I  had  borne  sun- 
burn and  scratches  and  lameness  and  I  wanted  a 
bear.  So  did  Mary.  She  was  not  content  with 
just  scenery.  Virginia  had  caught  bears  before, 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  41 

but  she  wanted  one  because  we  did,  and  William 
wanted  one  because  Virginia  did.  William  never 
seems  to  want  much  for  himself  some  way,  but 
he  loves  Virginia,  and  I  think  Virginia  loves  him 
next  best  to  Jim.  As  for  Dick — there  was  no 
mistaking  Dick's  feeling.  He  felt  as  though  he 
had  not  done  his  duty  by  us  since  there  had  been 
no  bear  in  the  two  most  likely  traps. 

"  The  question  before  the  assembly  now  was 
— Should  we  or  should  we  not  visit  the  third 
trap  ?  It  might  be  dark,  William  said,  before  we 
got  out  of  the  canyon,  and  there  wasn't  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  of  a  bear  anyway.  Virginia 
— really,  she  is  the  biggest  peach  I  ever  knew ! — 
proposed  that  she  ride  home  with  Vivian,  and  the 
others  of  us  go  on  with  Dick  and  William,  but 
Vivian  would  not  listen  to  her.  There  having 
been  no  bears  in  the  first  two  traps  was  proof 
enough  for  Vivian  that  there  would  be  none  in 
the  last,  and  her  bravery  returned.  Mary  wanted 
to  go  on,  and  I  wouldn't  have  gone  home  for  a 
thousand  dollars  or  a  trip  abroad !  As  for  Dick, 
he  was  already  half-way  up  the  trail. 


42       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"  'This  trail  was  far  steeper  than  either  of  the 
others.  It  led  almost  straight  up  the  mountain- 
side beneath  over-hanging  trees,  under  fallen  tim- 
ber, and  through  every  kind  of  bramble  imagi- 
nable. But  there  was  something  exhilarating  about 
even  the  brambles — something  that  made  you  glad 
to  hear  the  saddle  crunch  and  whine  and  creak, 
and  to  feel  yourself  being  carried  higher 
and  higher.  It  wasn't  all  the  hope  of  a  bear 
either! 

"  'At  last  we  came  to  a  little  creek,  which  was 
hurling  itself  down  over  the  rocks. 

"'"Moose  Creek!"  Dick  called  back.  "The 
trap's  one-half  a  mile  farther  on." 

"  'On  we  went,  growing  more  and  more  excited 
every  moment.  Something  strange  seemed  to  be 
in  the  air.  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  the 
horses  must  have  felt  it,  too,  for  just  as  we  had 
cleared  an  especially  thick  thicket,  my  Cyclone 
began  to  prick  up  his  ears  and  to  sniff  the  air, 
and  Dick's  horse  reared.  Then,  in  a  moment,  the 
others  began  to  be  restive.  Even  old  Siwash,  who 
is  lame  and  halt  and  maimed  and  blind  like  the 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  43 

parable  people  at  the  feast,  actually  jumped,  much 
to  Vivian's  horror. 

"  'I  just  wish  you  could  have  felt  the  shivers 
and  thrills  and  quivers  that  ran  down  our  backs 
when  Dick  halted  the  procession  and  cried, 

"  '  "There's  a  bear  around  all  right !  The 
horses  smell  him!  We'll  turn  back  and  tie,  and 
then  go  on  foot!" 

"  'Five  minutes  more  and  we  were  stumbling 
up  the  trail — Dick  and  William  ahead,  Virginia 
and  I  next,  and  Mary  and  Vivian  in  the  rear.  I 
don't  know  where  my  heart  was,  but  I  know  it 
was  unfastened,  for  I  distinctly  felt  it  in  a  dozen 
different  places!  Vivian  had  actually  forgotten 
to  be  frightened,  and  Mary  kept  saying  over  and 
over  again,  "Just  think  of  it!  Just  think  of  it! 
A  bear!  Just  think  of  it !"  As  for  Virginia,  she 
strode  along  with  her  head  high,  just  as  she  al- 
ways does,  and  looked  as  though  she  were  able  to 
cope  with  any  grizzly  on  earth. 

"  'We  gained  the  clearing  almost  as  soon  as 
Dick  and  William,  and — now,  listen,  all  of  you ! — 
there  was  our  bear ! ! !  I'll  never  forget  that  mo- 


44       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ment !  I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  in  my  life  experi- 
ence so  many  different  feelings — triumph  and  pity 
and  fear  and  admiration,  all  struggling  together. 
The  poor  thing  lay  in  the  hot  sun  by  the  creek, 
rods  from  the  little  log  house  which  had  concealed 
the  trap,  and  one  of  his  forelegs  was  securely 
held  in  that  cruel,  iron  grip.  A  long,  strong  chain 
attached  to  some  logs  held  the  trap  secure,  though 
bark  was  torn  in  layers  and  strips  from  the  trees 
near  by,  whose  trunks  the  poor,  mad,  suffering 
animal  had  climbed — trap,  chain,  and  all.  But 
now — nearly  worn  out — he  lay  in  the  creek,  sick 
at  heart  and  ready  to  die. 

"  'As  Dick  drew  the  big  gun  from  the  holster, 
and  went  nearer,  the  bear  rose  to  his  feet  and 
growled — a  fierce,  awful  growl  that  sent  Vivian 
trembling  to  the  thicket.  All  I  could  think  of  just 
then  was  Roland  keeping  at  bay  the  Saracens  at 
Roncesvalles,  or  Leonidas  withstanding  the  Per- 
sians at  Thermopylae.  There  was  something 
grand  in  the  way  that  big  bear  faced  Dick.  I 
shall  always  admire  him  for  it  as  long  as  I  live. 
I  rather  believe  he  was  glad  to  die  as  Leonidas 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear  45 

and  Roland  were — secure  in  the  thought  that  his 
spirit  could  never  be  overcome. 

"  'William  turned  his  back  as  Dick  raised  the 
big  gun,  and  made  ready  to  shoot.  Then  he  said 
something  about  seeing  to  the  horses,  and  hurried 
down  the  trail.  Mary  joined  Vivian  in  the  thicket, 
and  so  did  I.  I  couldn't  help  it.  We  turned  our 
backs,  too,  and  stopped  our  ears  with  our  fingers. 
Virginia  was  the  only  one  who  stayed.  She  stood 
by  Dick  as  he  aimed  and  shot.  Afterward  she 
told  me  she  would  have  felt  mean  to  desert  a  hero 
whose  spirit  was  just  about  to  be  taken  away  from 
him.  She  wanted  to  pay  her  last  respects.  But  I 
know  it  wasn't  easy,  for  when  we  all  came  trem- 
blingly back  a  few  minutes  after  Dick  had  shot, 
her  eyes  were  brimful  of  tears. 

"  'Then  William,  too,  returned,  leading  Siwash, 
and  together  he  and  Dick  hoisted  the  big  bear 
across  Siwash's  saddle,  binding  him  securely  with 
the  rope.  After  the  horses  had  become  satisfied 
that  there  was  no  occasion  for  alarm,  William  led 
Siwash  at  the  head  of  a  triumphal  procession,  and 
the  rest  of  us  followed,  Vivian  on  William's  Gin- 


46       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ger.  Down  the  trail  we  went,  unconscious  of 
scratches  and  aches  and  sunburn,  now  that  our 
aim  had  been  accomplished,  and  our  goal  realized. 
The  awful  feeling  of  pity  which  we  had  felt  by  the 
creek  went  away  somewhere,  and  we  were  but 
victors  holding  a  triumph. 

"  'Virginia  and  I  wondered  as  we  rode  along 
together  why  it  is  that  you  can  feel  so  full  of  pity 
one  moment  at  the  thought  of  killing  something, 
and  yet  so  full  of  triumph  the  next  after  you've 
conquered  and  killed  it.  We've  decided  that  the 
triumphant  feeling  is  something  bequeathed  to  us 
by  the  cave-men  like  those  in  The  Story  of  Ab 
you  know — an  instinct  that  makes  you  want  to 
prove  yourself  master;  and  that  the  pity  is  a  sign 
we're  all  growing  better  instead  of  worse.  Don't 
you  think  that's  a  fairly  good  explanation?  Of 
course  it  is  needless  to  say  that  Virginia  thought 
it  out  f 

"  'Hannah's  calling  me  to  supper,  and  I  must 
hurry.  Mr.  Hunter  and  the  boys  had  just  reached 
home  from  Willow  Creek  as  we  rode  down  the 
lane.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Jack  and  Car- 


The  Bear  Canyon  Bear 


ver  when  they  saw  the  bear.  They  were  wild,  and 
hailed  us  as  though  we  were  Augustus  entering 
Rome !  Best  of  all,  Mr.  Hunter  says  he  is  going 
to  send  the  skin  to  you,  Dad — it's  all  black  and 
curly — for  the  library  floor.  Isn't  it  splendid  of 
him? 

"  'I  simply  must  run  and  wash,  and  rustle  a 
clean  middy  somewhere. 

"  'Loads  of  love, 

"  TRISCILLA. 

"  T.  S. — Mother,  dear,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  have 
still  another  Thought  Book.  I  never  in  my  life 
had  so  many  thoughts.  They  come  crowding  in 
— one  on  top  of  the  other — but  many  of  them  are 
the  kind  you  can't  very  well  express. 

"  'P.  A.  W. 

"  'P.  P.  S. — I  can  shoot  a  bottle  all  to  pieces 
at  thirty  yards.  Don't  you  call  that  pretty 
good? 

"  T.  A.  W.'  " 

"Rustle?"  soliloquized  Mrs.  Winthrop,  as  Pris- 
cilla's  father  folded  the  letter.     "I've  never  heard 


48       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

that  word  before  in  such  a  connection,  and  she's 
used  it  twice !" 

"Well,"  announced  Alden  Winthrop  decidedly, 
"I've  never  had  much  use  for  Thought  Books,  but 
I  believe  I  could  write  down  a  thought  or  two  my- 
self if  I'd  trapped  a  Rocky  Mountain  bear !" 


JEAN    MACDONALD HOMESTEADER 

SOUTH  of  Elk  Creek  Valley  the  foot-hills  were 
less  ambitious  than  those  east  and  north.  It  was 
easy  to  climb  their  sloping,  well-trailed  sides  on 
horseback  or  even  afoot,  and  the  view  across  the 
wide  mesa,  blue  with  sagebrush  to  the  distant  moun- 
tains blue  with  August  haze,  was  quite  reward 
enough. 

Here  was  real  Western  country,  almost  unham- 
pered by  civilization,  almost  unbroken  by  that  cer- 
tain sign  of  progress,  the  barbed-wire  fence.  This 
was  in  miniature  what  the  pioneers  must  have  gazed 
upon  with  weary,  dream-filled  eyes.  Virginia  and 
Donald,  who  often  climbed  the  hills  together  for  a 
wild  gallop  through  the  unfenced  sagebrush,  liked 
always  to  imagine  how  those  sturdy  folk  of  half  a 
century  ago  urged  their  tired  oxen  up  other  slopes 
than  these ;  how  they  halted  on  the  brow  of  the  foot- 

49 


50       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

hills  to  rest  the  patient  animals  and  to  fan  their  hot, 
dusty  faces  with  their  broad-brimmed  hats;  and 
how  their  eager  eyes,  sweeping  over  miles  of  ragged 
prairie  land  to  the  mountains,  awful  with  mystery, 
saw  this  great  country  cleared  of  sagebrush,  inter- 
sected with  ditches,  reclad  with  homes. 

Such  had  been  the  history  of  most  of  the  land 
above  and  beyond  Elk  Creek  Valley,  and  Donald  and 
Virginia  were  loath  to  see  this  one  unbroken  mesa 
go.  They  wanted  it  as  a  hunting-ground  for  prairie 
chickens  and  pheasant  in  the  fall,  and  as  a  wide, 
free,  unhindered  race-course  for  Pedro  and  Mac- 
Duff.  Pedro  and  MacDuff  wanted  it,  too.  They 
liked  to  gallop,  neck  and  neck,  joyous  in  the  sense  of 
freedom,  and  in  the  knowledge  that  they  were  giving 
happiness  to  their  respective  riders.  For  years 
Donald  and  Virginia  had  loved  the  mesa.  They 
loved  it  in  the  spring  when  the  bare  patches  among 
the  sagebrush  grew  green  and  gave  birth  to  hardy 
spring  flowers — buttercups  and  shooting-stars  and 
spring  beauties ;  they  loved  it  in  the  long  blue  days  of 
August  and  in  the  shorter  golden  ones  of  October; 
and  sometimes  they  thought  they  loved  it  best  of  all 


Jean  MacDonald — Homesteader      51 

in  winter  when  it  lay,  silent  and  very,  very  wise, 
beneath  the  snow. 

But  it  was  to  be  just  theirs  no  longer.  The  slow, 
steady  tide  of  oncoming  progress  had  refused  to  let 
it  alone.  In  the  spring  while  Virginia  was  still  at 
St.  Helen's,  Donald,  home  for  the  Easter  recess,  had 
written  her  of  two  homesteaders'  cabins  on  the  mesa 
toward  the  southeast,  of  fences  being  built,  and  of 
sagebrush  rooted  up  and  burned. 

It  was  even  less  theirs  on  this  August  morning, 
for  the  cabin  of  another  homesteader  had  risen  as 
though  by  magic  in  the  southwest  corner;  ten  acres 
of  freshly-plowed  land  were  being  warmed  by  the 
sun  and  made  ready  for  September  wheat ;  and  rods 
of  stout  barbed-wire  tacked  to  strong,  well-made 
fence-poles  were  guarding  the  future  wheat  against 
all  intruders.  The  cabin,  superior  in  plan  and  work- 
manship to  that  of  the  average  homesteader,  faced 
the  west.  It  was  built  of  new  spruce  logs,  with  well- 
filled  chinks,  and  boasted  two  large  windows  and  a 
porch,  in  addition  to  its  necessary  door.  Moreover, 
an  outside  stone  chimney  betokened  a  fire-place — an 
untold  luxury  to  a  homesteader.  A  second  wire 


52       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

fence,  set  at  some  three  rods  from  the  cabin,  in- 
closed it  on  all  sides,  and  protected  a  small  vegetable 
garden  and  a  few  fruit  trees,  which  the  owner  had 
already  planted. 

It  was  a  good  quarter  section  upon  which  this 
ambitious  homesteader  had  filed.  On  the  south  the 
mesa  mounted  into  the  higher  hills,  and  this  claim 
included  timber ;  the  land  already  plowed  showed  the 
soil  to  be  black  and  fertile;  and  a  creek,  tumbling 
from  the  mountains  and  hurrying  by  just  back  of 
the  cabin,  promised  plenty  of  water,  even  in  a  thirsty 
season.  With  a  substantial  new  cabin,  three  cows 
and  a  horse,  some  hens  and  two  collie  dogs,  a  crop 
nearly  in,  fruit  trees  thriving  and  a  garden  growing 
like  wild-fire — what  more  could  one  desire?  Then 
add  to  riches  already  possessed,  the  surety  of  a  barn 
and  corral  in  September,  and  the  probability  of 
twelve  pure-bred  Shropshire  sheep,  and  what  home- 
steader would  not  sing  for  joy? 

That  was  precisely  what  Jean  MacDonald  was 
doing  this  sunny  August  morning;  for  it  was  a  girl 
— a  strong,  robust  girl  of  twenty-one — who  had 
taken  up  the  southwestern  claim  on  Virginia's  and 


Jean  MacDonald — Homesteader      53 

Donald's  mesa.  She  was  bustling  about  her  little 
cabin,  setting  things  to  rights,  and  singing  for  joy. 
Her  voice,  clear,  strong,  and  sweet,  rang  out  in  one 
good  old  Scotch  song  after  another — "Robin  Adair," 
"Loch  Lomond,"  and  "Up  with  the  Bonnets  of 
Bonnie  Dundee."  Sometimes  she  paused  in  her 
sweeping  and  dusting  and  hurried  to  the  porch  to 
look  away  across  the  mesa  toward  the  north,  and  to 
speak  to  Robert  Bruce,  her  horse,  who,  saddled  and 
bridled,  awaited  her  coming  outside  the  gate. 

"Not  yet,  Bobby,"  she  called,  "not  yet !  There's 
no  sign  of  them  at  all,  so  be  patient !" 

Robert  Bruce  was  quite  willing  to  be  patient. 
There  was  nourishment  in  plenty  between  the  sage- 
brush clumps,  and  he  wandered  at  will,  his  dragging 
reins  giving  sure  proof  that  he  would  not  stray  too 
far. 

Meanwhile,  his  mistress  continued  her  singing  and 
her  work.  She  proudly  dusted  her  new  furniture 
in  the  room  which  served  as  chamber  and  parlor,  re- 
arranged her  few  books  in  their  wall  bookcase,  swept 
up  the  ashes  of  her  last  evening's  fire,  and  brought 
wood  to  lay  another.  Then  she  turned  her  attention 


54       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

to  the  room  which  was  kitchen  and  dining-room  in 
one.  From  a  neat  chest  of  drawers  she  drew  her 
best  and  only  white  table-cloth  and  spread  it  on  the 
table.  The  table  was  a  little  rickety  in  one  leg,  but 
several  folds  of  newspaper  acted  as  a  splendid  prop, 
and  quite  removed  the  difficulty.  Her  supply  of 
china  and  silver  was  scarce,  but  it  would  do  with 
washing  between  courses.  Four  chairs  were  all 
she  had,  but  they  were  quite  enough  as  her  guests 
numbered  four.  An  empty  soap-box  concealed  be- 
neath the  table-cloth,  and  drawn  out  only  when 
necessary,  would  do  for  her. 

In  fifteen  minutes  everything  was  in  readiness, 
even  to  five  early  nasturtiums  in  a  tumbler  on  the 
dining-table.  They  had  made  a  special  effort  to 
open  that  morning,  and  the  homesteader  was  grate- 
ful. She  paused  on  her  way  to  the  creek-refriger- 
ator to  look  in  the  sitting-room  mirror.  These 
guests  were  her  very  first,  and  she  wanted  to  appear 
at  her  best.  Yes,  her  khaki  blouse  and  skirt  were 
clean  and  her  hair  fairly  tidy.  Her  new  red  tie,  she 
told  herself,  was  quite  decidedly  jaunty.  She  blessed 
that  tie,  for  had  it  not  been  for  Donald  Keith's 


Jean  MacDonald— Homesteader      55 

kindness  in  bringing  the  package  to  her  from  the 
town  post-office  four  days  ago,  she  would  neither 
have  known  about  the  girls,  nor  have  had  the  op- 
portunity of  inviting  them  to  come  to  see  her.  Of 
course,  they  were  from  the  East — all  except  Vir- 
ginia Hunter,  of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much,  and 
she  was  a  Wyoming  homesteader ;  but,  she  told  her- 
self, that  need  make  no  difference.  In  fact,  it  made 
everything  much  more  interesting,  for  she  could 
learn  many  things  from  them,  and  perhaps — per- 
haps, they  might  learn  a  little  bit  from  her. 

Still  singing,  she  hurried  to  the  end  of  the  porch, 
and  looked  toward  the  north.  Four  specks  were 
distinctly  visible  on  the  edge  of  the  mesa.  Even  as 
she  looked  they  became  larger.  They  were  horses 
coming  toward  her  cabin,  and  they  bore  her  guests. 
She  whistled  loudly  to  Robert  Bruce,  who  obedi- 
ently ceased  his  browsing  and  came  toward  her.  A 
quick  run  to  the  creek-refrigerator  to  see  that  her 
butter  and  cream  were  safe  in  the  clear,  cold  water, 
and  then  back  to  Robert ;  a  leap  into  the  saddle  and 
she  was  off  to  meet  her  guests. 

Introductions  are  stilted,  unlovely  things  between 


56       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

horseback  riders  on  a  sagebrush-covered  mesa  under 
a  blue  August  sky.  There  were  none  this  morning. 
Jean  MacDonald  reined  in  the  restive  Robert  Bruce 
as  she  drew  near  her  guests,  and  unceremoniously 
greeted  them  all. 

"I  know  every  one  of  you,"  she  said  brightly,  her 
dark  blue  eyes  searching  their  faces — "Mary  Wil- 
liams and  Priscilla  Winthrop  and  Vivian  Winters — 
all  of  you.  And  I've  known  you  even  longer,  Vir- 
ginia. Donald  Keith  told  me  all  about  you  a  month 
ago  when  they  helped  break  my  land.  I'm  so  glad 
you're  coming  to  spend  the  day  with  me.  You're 
the  very  first  guests  I've  ever  had  on  my  home- 
stead!" 

They  were  glad,  too,  they  told  her,  liking  her  at 
once,  and  feeling  perfectly  at  ease.  She  rode  beside 
Virginia,  talking  of  Donald,  the  other  Keiths  who 
had  been  so  good  to  her,  and  her  neighbors  in  the 
southeast  corner  of  the  mesa.  Virginia,  too,  talked 
freely,  asking  questions,  telling  of  their  recent  bear 
hunt,  joining  in  Jean's  admiration  of  the  Keiths. 
To  the  three  New  Englanders,  who  rode  a  little  be- 
hind them,  this  new  comradeship,  though  a  little 


Jean  MacDonald— Homesteader      57 

startling  to  their  inherent  conservatism,  was  inter- 
esting in  the  extreme.  It  seemed  to  be  born  of  a 
land  too  big  for  ceremonies,  too  frank  and  open  for 
formalities ;  and  soon  they  found  themselves  urging 
their  horses  up  to  Pedro  and  Robert  Bruce,  so  that 
they  too  might  enter  the  widening  circle  of  fellow- 
ship. 

All  four  Vigilantes  found  themselves  studying 
the  face  of  this  girl  who  so  often  turned  toward  one 
and  another  with  a  question  or  a  reply.  It  was  a 
face  too  tanned  and  too  large- featured  to  be  beauti- 
ful or  even  pretty ;  but  the  lines  about  the  nose  and 
mouth  were  firm  and  strong,  the  eyes  were  wide- 
open  and  fearless,  and  the  head  was  set  most  inde- 
pendently upon  a  pair  of  broad,  straight  shoulders. 
There  was  something  about  the  girl  like  the  mesa — 
fearless,  big,  wholesome.  It  showed  itself  in  the 
way  she  managed  her  horse,  in  her  hearty  manner  of 
laughing  with  her  head  thrown  back,  and  in  the 
cairn,  sure,  straightforward  expression  of  her  dark 
blue  eyes. 

"She'd  make  the  finest  kind  of  a  friend,  I'm  sure 
of  that,"  said  Mary  to  herself,  and  then  to  Priscilla 


58       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

and  Vivian,  as  they  dropped  behind  for  a  moment 
just  before  reaching  the  little  cabin. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Priscilla,  "she  surely  would.  I 
wonder  what  there  is  about  her  that  makes  a  person 
feel  small.  I've  been  feeling  positively  microscopic 
ever  since  she  rode  up  to  us." 

"I'm  glad  you  have,"  sighed  Vivian,  thankful  that 
another  shared  her  sensation.  "So  have  I.  I  feel 
about  as  big  as  a  field-mouse,  and  I  think  I  know 
why.  You  just  know  a  girl  like  her  would  never 
fall  off  a  horse,  or  run  away  from  a  gun,  or — do 
anything  babyish  like  that.  And  just  imagine  dar- 
ing to  live  all  alone  in  a  little  cabin  like  this!  I'd 
die !  I  know  I  should !" 

But  the  small  feeling  was  forgotten  in  the  good 
time  which  followed.  Robert  Bruce,  unspeakably 
glad  of  company,  escorted  his  four  guests  to  choice 
bits  of  grass  in  among  the  sagebrush ;  the  two  collies 
barked  in  welcome;  and  the  girls,  loaded  with  sad- 
dles and  bridles,  went  in  through  the  gate  toward  the 
cabin.  Jean  MacDonald,  proud  and  happy,  led  the 
way  into  the  house  and  the  interested  Vigilantes  fol- 
lowed, They  had  never  supposed  a  log  house  could 


Jean  MacDonald — Homesteader      59 

be  so  attractive  within ;  but  the  neat  dark  furniture, 
the  couch  with  its  brown  cover,  the  stone  fire-place, 
and  the  books  and  pictures  made  the  little  cabin  one 
of  the  most  homelike  places  they  had  ever  seen.  A 
mountain  sheep  looked  down  upon  them  from  above 
the  fire-place.  Jean  had  shot  him  the  winter  before 
in  Montana,  she  told  them.  In  the  corner  by  the 
cot  stood  her  guns — one  large,  double-barreled  Win- 
chester, a  shot-gun,  and  a  small  rifle.  Above  them 
on  the  logs  rested  her  fishing-rods. 

It  was  all  so  new  and  interesting  to  three  pair 
of  fascinated  eyes.  They  asked  question  after  ques- 
tion and  explored  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
cabin  and  its  surroundings — the  kitchen  with  its 
shining  stove,  singing  tea-kettle,  and  white-covered 
table,  the  pantry,  the  root-cellar  and  chicken-house, 
and  last  of  all  the  creek-refrigerator. 

"It's  all  right  :n  the  daytime,"  announced  Vivian, 
as  they  sat  on  the  porch  before  beginning  to  get  din- 
ner, "but  I  don't  see  how  you  stand  it  all  alone 
at  night."  She  paused.  "I'd  die!"  she  finished 
simply. 

Jean  MacDonald  did  not  laugh,  though  she  felt 


60       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

like  it  at  first,  for  she  saw  that  Vivian  was  very 
much  in  earnest. 

"I  think  I  know  how  you  feel,  Vivian,"  she  said 
kindly.  "I  know  you  would  be  very  lonely,  because, 
you  see,  you've  always  lived  in  a  city  or  at  school 
where  there  have  been  folks  all  about  you.  But, 
you  see,  it's  different  with  me.  I  was  born  on  a 
homestead  in  Montana,  and  I'm  used  to  endless 
tracts  of  land  without  neighbors.  I  guess  I've  made 
better  friends  with  the  mountains  than  you've  been 
able  to  yet,  and  with  the  silence  which  I  know  some 
people  fear.  You  see,  I've  never  been  afraid  in  all 
my  life,  so  I  don't  mind  the  loneliness." 

Vivian  was  staring  at  her,  incredulous. 

"Never — been — afraid — of — anything?"  she  re- 
peated questioningly.  "Honestly,  haven't  you — all 
your  life?" 

Jean  MacDonald  considered  for  a  moment. 

"No,"  she  said,  "honestly,  I  don't  believe  I  ever 
have.  I  was  brought  up  never  to  fear  the  dark  or 
the  silence  or  being  alone  or — anything  like  that. 
Those  are  the  most  awful  things,  I  guess,  to  persons 
who  are  afraid.  And  as  for  wild  animals  or  people 


Jean  MacDonald — Homesteader      61 

who  would  do  harm  (and  there  aren't  many  of  those 
in  the  world)  why,  you  see" — she  raised  her  head 
and  her  eyes  flashed — "you  see,  I  can  take  care  of 
myself!  I'm  thankful,"  she  added,  "that  I'm  not 
afraid  of  things.  I  think  fear  must  be  a  terrible 
thing!" 

Vivian's  blue  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears. 

"It  is,"  she  said.  "It's  the  most  dreadful  monster 
in  the  whole  wide  world !" 

Jean  MacDonald  placed  a  firm,  brown  hand  on 
Vivian's  shoulder  as  they  all  went  in  together  to  pre- 
pare dinner,  and  Vivian  felt  comradeship  and  under- 
standing in  that  friendly  hand.  Perhaps,  some  day, 
she  said  to  herself,  she  would  be  brave  also;  even 
before  she  went  East,  she  might  become  a  more  wor- 
thy Vigilante.  At  all  events  she  would  begin  once 
more.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  concluded,  as  she  ran 
to  the  creek-refrigerator  after  the  butter  and  cream 
— perhaps  after  all,  life  was  just  a  series  of  begin- 
nings— again — each  one  a  wee  bit  farther  on ! 

Dinner  was  the  j oiliest  meal  imaginable.  They 
ate  and  laughed — laughed  and  ate.  Everything  was 
delicious — the  trout  caught  in  the  creek  and  fried  to 


62       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

a  rich  brown,  the  baked  potatoes,  the  fresh  biscuits, 
the  lettuce  and  radishes  from  the  garden,  and  the 
custard  pudding.  Jean  MacDonald  with  all  her 
other  accomplishments  was  a  famous  cook.  That 
was  self-evident. 

After  dinner  they  went  out  upon  the  porch,  gazed 
across  the  mesa  bluer  than  ever  in  the  afternoon 
haze,  and  talked.  Jean  longed  to  know  about  school, 
and  they  told  her  of  St.  Helen's,  of  Miss  King,  and 
Miss  Wallace,  of  the  dear  funny  Blackmores,  and 
of  poor  tactless  Miss  Green.  Tears  ran  down  Jean's 
face  as  Virginia  told  of  Katrina  Van  Rensaelar  and 
the  deluge  she  never  received,  and  of  how  Priscilla 
had  given  the  German  measles  to  the  boys  at  the 
Gordon  School. 

Then  Mary  begged  to  know  something  about 
homesteading,  and  Jean  told  of  how  she  had  come 
to  Wyoming.  Her  far-off  neighbors  in  the  other 
corner  of  the  mesa  had  been  friends  in  Montana, 
she  said,  and  it  was  they  who  had  encouraged  her 
to  come  and  take  up  an  opposite  claim.  She  ex- 
plained how  the  land  would  become  her  own  after 
she  had  lived  upon  it  seven  months  each  year  for 


Jean  MacDonald— Homesteader      63 

three  years ;  how  each  year  she  must  plow  and  fence 
so  many  acres ;  and  how  at  the  end  of  that  time  she 
could  sell  the  land  at  a  good  price,  or  else  stay  and 
improve  it  further. 

"And  which  will  you  do?"  asked  the  interested 
Mary  while  the  others  listened.  "Will  you  stay  or 
go  away  after  it  is  yours?" 

She  would  go  away  for  a  while,  she  told  them, 
and  rent  her  land.  Her  neighbors  yonder  would  be 
glad  to  hire  it.  She  was  going  to  college.  Her 
eyes  glowed  with  enthusiasm  as  she  dreamed  her 
dream  for  them.  Since  her  graduation  from  High 
School  she  had  taught  in  country  schools  until  she 
had  saved  money  enough  to  pay  for  her  improve- 
ments on  the  homestead.  Everything  was  paid  for 
— the  cabin  (she  had  made  most  of  the  furniture 
herself),  the  fencing,  the  plowing,  her  stock — 
everything;  and  there  was  money  enough  left  for 
fall  planting,  a  new  barn,  and  some  sheep,  and  the 
autumn  expenses.  In  December,  perhaps,  she  would 
leave  and  earn  some  more  money  until  it  was  time  to 
come  back  again.  Then  in  another  August  she 
would  have  a  crop  from  her  winter  wheat,  and  an- 


64       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

other  in  September  from  the  spring  planting.  She 
could  hardly  wait  for  the  time  to  come  when  she 
should  really  have  money  from  a  crop  of  her  own 
raising. 

After  the  three  years  were  over,  and  the  land  was 
hers,  if  she  could  afford  it,  she  was  going  to  college. 
If  she  did  not  have  the  money  then,  why  she  would 
work  until  she  did.  She  would  study  agriculture 
at  college,  learn  the  best  methods  of  improving  the 
land,  and  then  come  back  to  carry  them  out.  She 
would  build  a  new  house  in  place  of  the  cabin,  buy 
some  more  land,  and  make  her  ranch  one  of  the  best 
in  all  Wyoming ! 

The  Vigilantes  were  in  a  new  world  as  they  lis- 
tened— a  world  where  the  only  capital  necessary  was 
ambition,  enthusiasm,  vigor!  Something  told  them 
that  this  homesteading  girl  was  richer  in  many  things 
than  they  themselves;  that  the  treasures  of  hard 
work  were  quite  as  precious  as  those  of  wealth ;  and 
that  Jean  MacDonald  was  finding  for  herself 
through  her  own  untiring  labor  the  things  most 
worth-while. 

They  were  silent  an  hour  later  as  they  left  their 


Jean  MacDonald— Homesteader      65 

new  friend  on  the  edge  of  the  mesa,  and  rode  down 
the  hills  toward  Elk  Creek  Valley. 

"I  think  it's  been  about  the  happiest  day  I've  ever 
had  in  my  life,"  she  told  them,  as  she  shook  hands 
all  around  and  said  good-by.  "I've  loads  of  things 
to  think  about  and  laugh  about — until  you  come 
again.  Give  Siwash  a  looser  rein,  Vivian.  He 
won't  stumble.  Good-by!'* 

They  looked  back  as  they  reached  the  Valley  level 
to  see  Jean  MacDonald  and  Robert  Bruce  silhouetted 
against  the  sky-line,  and  to  wave  them  a  last  good- 
by. 

"It's  like  your  'Power  of  the  West'  picture  in  our 
room  at  school,  Virginia,"  Priscilla  almost  whis- 
pered— "the  man  on  horseback  with  the  sunset  and 
the  mountains  behind  him.  Just  look!  There! 
Now  she's  turned  Robert,  and  now  they're  out  of 
sight!" 

That  night  they  all  sat  on  the  porch  together  and 
watched  the  sunset.  A  flaming  pageant  of  color 
traced  and  retraced  its  course  across  the  sky. 

"I  never  saw  such  color,"  cried  Aunt  Nan. 
"Sometimes  you  think  it's  saffron,  and  then  you 


66       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

know  it's  amber,  and  then  you're  sure  it's  real  gold, 
and — it's  changed  again!  See,  Virginia!" 

"I  think  I  know  what  it's  like,"  said  Virginia. 
"Mother  and  I  discovered  it  years  ago  when  I  was  a 
little  girl.  Jim  took  us  camping  once  when  Father 
was  away,  and  at  night  we  had  a  big  fire  and  sat 
and  watched  it.  The  sunset  was  gorgeous  like  this, 
I  remember,  and  just  as  we  were  watching  it  and  the 
fire,  Mother  discovered  what  the  clouds  were  like. 
They're  like  the  smoke  as  the  flames  underneath 
push  it  through  the  green  boughs !  It's  just  that  won- 
derful color  in  the  sky  now.  The  next  time  we  camp 
you'll  see,  Aunt  Nan.  It  always  makes  me  think 
of  the  flame-colored  veils  which  the  Roman  girls 
used  to  wear  on  their  wedding-days.  Mother  told 
me  about  them  that  very  night." 

"Just  think  how  beautiful  it  must  be  from  Jean's 
cabin,"  said  Priscilla.  "And  she  can  see  a  larger 
sweep  of  sky  and  mountains  because  she's  up  higher 
than  we.  I  know  she's  watching  it  all  alone,  and 
maybe  dreaming  about  college." 

"I'll  never  forget  her  to-day,"  Mary  said  ear- 
nestly. "I  think  she's  wonderful !  And,  Aunt  Nan, 


Jean  MacDonald— Homesteader      67 

you  just  know  from  her  eyes  that  she's  gazed  on  big 
stretches  of  country  all  her  life.  You  must  go  with 
us  next  time  to  see  her." 

"It's  more  than  that,  Mary."  The  voice  came 
from  the  corner  of  the  porch  where  Vivian  sat  apart 
from  the  others.  "It's  more  than  that.  You  don't 
just  know  she's  always  looked  at  big  things.  You 
know  she's  had  them  inside  of  her  all  her  life  long!" 


CHAPTER   VI 

MISS   GREEN   AGAIN 

"I  KNOW  I  shouldn't  worry,"  said  Mary  to  Aunt 
Nan,  "but  I  just  can't  help  thinking  of  Anne  and  the 
Twins.  Of  course,  as  far  as  Jean  and  Jess  are  con- 
cerned, they  won't  mind — they'll  think  it  the  great- 
est adventure  imaginable;  but  Anne  will  be  terrified, 
and  so  will  Mrs.  Hill.  I'm  so  glad  Mother  and  I 
went  last  summer." 

"What  does  the  paper  say?"  asked  Aunt  Nan. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  porch  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival of  Priscilla,  Virginia,  and  Vivian,  who  had 
walked  to  the  road  for  the  mail.  Dick,  coming  on 
horseback,  had  brought  the  heavier  papers  and  pack- 
ages, and  Mary  was  absorbed  in  the  latest  reports  of 
the  newly  declared  war. 

"Oh,  it's  mostly  about  mobilizing  and  the  German 
advance,  but  there  are  scores  of  incidents  about 
Americans  unable  to  get  money  or  return  passages, 

68 


Miss  Green  Again  69 

or  anything ;  and  here  is  something  about  their  being 
made  to  walk  across  the  border  into  Switzerland. 
Dear  me!  I  wonder  just  where  Anne  is!  In  Ger- 
many somewhere,  I  know." 

"Don't  worry,  dear,"  reassured  Aunt  Nan. 
"There  may  be  disagreeable  things,  but  I'm  sure  our 
people  won't  be  in  any  real  trouble  or  danger. 
Where  are  those  girls  anyway?  They  must  have 
sat  down  to  read  their  own  letters,  and  forgotten  all 
about  us." 

"Here  they  come,"  said  Mary,  looking  down  the 
cottonwood-bordered  lane.  "They're  reading  some- 
thing all  together,  and  laughing.  Maybe  it's  a  letter 
from  the  Twins  or  Anne." 

It  proved  to  be  a  veritable  volume  from  the  Black- 
more  twins,  Jean  being  the  real  author,  but  Jess 
having  lent  her  personality  without  stint  to  the  in- 
cident related. 

"It's  a  perfect  scream,"  cried  Priscilla,  half- 
choked  with  laughter  as  she  came  up  the  steps. 
"Mary,  what  do  you  think?  They've  seen — no,  I 
won't  tell,  Virginia,  but  read  it  quick!" 

"When  is  it  dated  ?"  asked  Mary. 


76       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"July  2Oth,"  Virginia  told  her.  "The  very  day 
you  people  came.  You  see,  'twas  too  early  then  for 
any  trouble.  Would  you  rather  wait  to  hear  it,  Aunt 
Nan,  until  you've  read  your  mail  ?" 

Aunt  Nan's  mail  was  unimportant,  she  said,  com- 
pared to  a  letter  from  the  interesting  Blackmore 
twins. 

"It's  a  regular  book,"  announced  Virginia,  as  she 
settled  herself  against  a  post,  and  turned  the  pages. 
"Jean  probably  didn't  do  much  sight-seeing  on  the 
afternoon  she  wrote  this. 

"  'SAFE  AT  LAST  IN  BERLIN,  GERMANY, 

"  'July  20,  19—. 
"  'DEAR  VIRGINIA  AND  EVERYBODY  ELSE  : 

"  'It  is  only  through  Anne's  economy  and  Jess' 
impudence  and  my  genius  at  conducting  a  party 
that  we  are  here  and  writing  to  you.  Had  each 
of  us  lacked  the  quality  named  above,  we  should 
to-day  doubtless  be  languishing  within  the  walls  of 
a  German  poor-house.  But  instead  we  are  in  a 
lovely  pension — all  together  and  unspeakably 
happy. 


Miss  Green  Again  71 

"  'The  story  in  itself  is  so  thrilling  that  I  hate 
to  give  you  the  necessary  setting,  as  Miss  Wallace 
would  say,  but  I  must.  The  first  step  is  to  explain 
how  we  all  happen  to  be  together.  It  was  this 
way :  Father  and  Jess  and  I  did  stay  in  England 
for  a  week  after  all.  You  see,  Jess  had  faithfully 
promised  every  girl  in  English  History  that  she 
would  see  Lady  Jane  Grey's  name  where  she  had 
cut  it  herself  in  the  Tower;  and  I  had  given  my 
oath  to  record  the  impressions  made  upon  me  by 
the  sight  of  Kenilworth  by  moonlight.  Whether 
Dad  would  have  considered  those  vows  worthy 
or  not,  we  do  not  know,  had  it  not  been  that  he 
wanted  to  go  to  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford 
to  see  some  musty  old  manuscript  or  other.  So 
on  our  way  from  Liverpool  to  Oxford  we  stopped 
at  Kenilworth,  and  I  did  see  it  at  moonlight.  I 
shall  give  my  impressions  at  a  later  date.  The 
search  for  another  old  manuscript  gave  Jess  her 
chance  at  the  Tower  and  "JANE,"  and  it  was 
there  in  the  little  chapel  that  we  met  Anne  and 
Mrs.  Hill. 

"  'They  had  planned  the  most  wonderful  week 


72       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

down  in  Surrey  in  a  tiny  English  village  called 
Shere,  which  Anne  said  was,  according  to  the 
guide-books,  "the  perfect  realization  of  an  artist's 
dream."  She  begged  us  to  go  along  with  them, 
and  poor  Mrs.  Hill,  I  suppose,  felt  obliged  to  in- 
vite us  also,  though  what  she  may  have  said  to 
Anne  in  private  I  do  not  yet  know.  We  became 
imbued  with  desire  to  see  the  artist's  dream  real- 
ized and  to  be  with  Anne,  so  with  Jess  to  hurry 
Mrs.  Hill  and  me  to  drag  Anne,  we  tore  through 
Billingsgate  fish-market  and  up  King  William 
Street  to  the  Bank,  where  we  were  to  meet  Father. 
"  'After  the  poor  man  had  recovered  from  his 
astonishment,  he  gave  his  consent — namely,  that 
we  should  go  to  Surrey  with  Anne  and  Mrs.  Hill 
(if  they  really  wanted  us)  then  across  the  channel 
to  Rotterdam,  up  the  Rhine  and  on  to  Berlin, 
where  he  would  meet  us.  Mrs.  Hill  really  seemed 
glad  to  have  us  go  with  them  and,  to  be  very 
frank,  I  think  the  Rev.  Dr.  Blackmore  was  glad 
to  get  rid  of  us.  You  see,  Jess  and  I  simply  can't 
get  enthusiastic  over  the  Middle  Ages  and  old 
manuscripts,  and  I  think  it  worries  Dad. 


Miss  Green  Again  73 

"  'Well,  our  learned  father  went  on  to  Berlin, 
and  his  imbecile  offspring  to  Surrey.  Shere  was 
lovely!  My  dream  was  realized  at  least.  I'll 
never  forget  the  little  gardens  filled  with  roses 
and  Canterbury  bells,  and  the  grain-fields  dotted 
with  poppies,  and  the  woods  filled  with  holly  and 
tall  pink  foxgloves,  and  the  beeches  all  silvery 
and  green.  We  rode  bicycles  all  over  Surrey,  and 
ate  roast  beef  and  Yorkshire  pudding  and  drank 
ginger  beer  at  quaint  little  English  inns.  You'll 
hear  all  about  it  next  year  in  English  class,  for 
I've  themes  enough  for  everybody — at  least  ma- 
terial for  them. 

"  'Then  we  went  back  to  London,  and  had  all 
sorts  of  adventures  there,  from  our  cab-horse  fall- 
ing flat  in  Piccadilly  Circus  to  Jess  being  arrested 
at  the  House  of  Commons  gate;  but  if  Mrs.  Hill 
ever  repented  of  her  invitation  she  didn't  let  us 
know,  and  we  were  never  happier  in  our  lives. 

"  'We  started  for  Rotterdam  the  I4th  of  July, 
crossed  the  Channel  with  flying  colors  since  we 
went  to  bed  immediately  upon  going  aboard,  and 
started  up  the  Rhine  the  next  day  on  a  boat  ap- 


74       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

propriately  named  the  Siegfried.  The  first  day 
we  went  through  flat  Holland  country,  but  on  the 
next  we  had  reached  the  hills,  all  walled-up  and 
covered  with  vineyards.  That  evening  we  arrived 
at  Cologne,  where  we  were  to  stay  a  day  to  see 
the  Cathedral,  and  went  to  our  hotel.  And  here 
the  great  adventure  begins! 

"  'No  sooner  had  we  arrived  at  the  hotel  and 
asked  for  mail,  than  the  clerk  handed  Mrs.  Hill 
a  telegram.  It  was  from  her  music-teacher  in 
Berlin,  and  asked  her  to  be  in  Berlin  the  next  day 
without  fail  for  a  lesson.  What  was  she  to  do? 
She  said  she  just  couldn't  miss  the  lesson,  and  yet 
she  just  couldn't  bear  to  take  us  girls  before  we 
had  seen  the  Cathedral  or  the  castles  on  the  Rhine. 

"  'It  didn't  take  Jess  and  Anne  and  me  long  to 
decide.  She  must  go  on,  of  course,  we  told  her, 
and  we  would  see  the  Cathedral,  go  up  the  rest  of 
the  Rhine  quite  by  ourselves,  and  on  by  train  from 
Mayence  to  Berlin.  We  could  see  she  was  hesi- 
tating, probably  feeling  that  Anne  might  be 
trusted,  but  not  being  exactly  sure  of  those  Black- 
more  twins. 


Miss  Green  Again  75 

"  '  "The  language?"  she  said.  "Your  German? 
You  may  not  find  English  spoken  everywhere,  you 
know." 

"  'Anne  hastened  to  remark  that  I  had  studied 
German  for  three  years,  and  carried  off  honors. 
Her  imagination  gave  birth  to  the  honors,  where- 
upon I,  wishing  above  all  else  to  play  my  part, 
cleared  my  throat,  thought  a  moment,  and  re- 
quested the  clerk  to  bring  me  a  glass  of  water, 
which  he  did  with  a  grin. 

"  'Whether  my  visible  success  reassured  Mrs. 
Hill  or  not,  I  do  not  know,  but  anyhow  she  de- 
parted that  night  for  Berlin,  leaving  us  loaded 
with  endless  instructions,  extra  money,  and  a  tiny 
red  German  dictionary.  I  never  felt  so  officious 
in  my  life  as  when  I  called  a  cab  and  ushered 
Jess  and  Anne  into  it  after  the  train  had  pulled 
out.  I  can  see  now  why  it  is  that  Thomas  Cook 
and  Son  have  been  so  eminently  successful. 

"  'The  next  day  we  spent  browsing  around  in 
the  Cathedral.  To  describe  it  would  be  out  of 
place  in  this  letter,  which  deals  primarily  with 
adventure.  I  might  say,  however,  that  Jess  bought 


76       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

all  of  you  silver  pendants  of  the  Three  Wise  Men 
of  Cologne,  when  she  ought  to  have  saved  her 
money.  That  evening  we  took  the  Rhine-boat — 
the  Parsifal  this  time — and  when  we  awoke  in  the 
morning  we  were  well  among  the  castles.  It  was 
a  marvelous  day,  and  I'll  have  loads  to  tell  you 
about  it  in  the  fall. 

"  'We  reached  Mayence  in  the  evening  in  a 
pouring  rain,  and  took  a  cab,  driven  by  a  funny, 
red-faced  driver,  to  a  hotel  where  English  was 
spoken,  for  however  Mrs.  Hill  may  have  been 
impressed  by  my  honors  in  German  she  had  taken 
care  to  recommend  English  hotels.  Our  train  for 
Berlin  was  to  leave  at  nine  A.  M.,  so  we  went  to 
bed  early,  feeling  too  self -resourceful  for  words. 

"  'Do  you  remember  how,  with  cheers  for  St. 
Helen's  and  groans  for  Athens,  we  bequeathed 
Greenie  to  the  Ancient  World  last  winter?  Who 
at  that  joyous  moment  would  have  thought  that 
she  would  again  and  so  soon  enter  our  lives? 
Imagine  then,  if  you  can,  the  chill  of  horror  which 
shook  us  all  when  upon  alighting  at  the  Mayence 
station  the  next  morning,  ready  to  take  our  train 


Miss  Green  Again  77 

for  Berlin,  we  beheld — unmistakably  beheld — our 
beloved  Greenie  by  the  drinking- fountain ! ! !  Her 
back  was  toward  us,  and  all  the  proofs  we  had  at 
that  moment  were  the  hang  of  her  familiar  gray 
suit,  and  our  old  friend,  that  absurd  chicken 
feather,  awry  upon  her  little,  black,  St.  Helen's 
hat.  We  stood  breathless  and  surveyed  her. 

"  '  "It  is !"  said  Jess.    "Let's  run !" 

"'"It's  not!"  said  Anne.  "She's  in  Athens. 
Besides,  she's  too  antiseptic  to  drink  at  a  foun- 
tain!" 

"  '  "I  believe  it  is,"  said  I.  "It's  just  as  well  to 
look  for  shelter!" 

"  '  "Of  course,  it  is,"  said  Jess.  "That  chicken- 
feather " 

"  'And  just  then  she  looked  up !  There  was  no 
longer  any  question  as  to  identity.  In  spite  of 
drinking- fountains  and  Athens,  it  was  Greenie! 
She  looked  quite  the  same  as  ever,  except  for  the 
absence  of  the  gray  shawl,  and  no  visible  effects  of 
curl-papers. 

"  'Whether  it  was  Providence,  Greenie's  near- 
sightedness  or  our  own  speed  that  saved  us,  I 


78       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

don't  know ;  but  I  do  know  we  took  her  bearings 
and  all  ran  in  opposite  directions.  She  was  going 
through  the  door  marked  South.  Anne  accord- 
ingly ran  north,  Jess  east,  and  I  west. 

"  '  "Meet  in  five  minutes  at  the  fountain,"  I 
commanded  hoarsely  as  we  separated. 

"  That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  Greenie's  visible 
form.  How  she  happened  to  be  in  Mayence  we 
knew  not.  Jess  insisted  she  never  reached  Athens 
at  all,  but  was  discovered  en  route  at  Mayence, 
placed  in  the  Museum  there,  and  was  simply  out 
on  parole  for  exercise!  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
excitement  of  seeing  her,  and  the  flight  which 
followed,  proved  most  disastrous  to  us  all,  for 
when  we  met  five  minutes  later  at  the  foun- 
tain, the  Blackmore  purse,  carried  by  Jess,  was 
gone! 

"  'Anne  and  I  stood  and  glared  at  my  poor  twin 
just  as  though  dropping  a  purse  were  a  disgrace 
which  could  never  come  to  us  even  when  escap- 
ing from  Miss  Green.  I  informed  her  of  a  fact 
which  she  has  known  for  eighteen  years — namely, 
that  twenty  dollars,  the  amount  in  the  purse, 


Miss  Green  Again  79 

might  be  a  trifle  to  some,  but  was  colossal  in  the 
eyes  of  a  minister's  family.  Anne  was  less  scath- 
ing, but  by  no  means  charitable.  Poor  Jess,  on 
the  verge  of  tears,  suggested  that  instead  of  scold- 
ing her  we'd  better  look  for  the  purse,  which  we 
proceeded  to  do  without  success. 

"  'Thereupon  Anne  counted  her  money,  my 
honors  in  German  of  course  being  a  constant  help. 
A  twenty  mark  piece — five  dollars;  a  ten  mark 
piece — two  dollars  and  a  half;  and  some  change 
amounting  to  four  marks  or  another  dollar. 
Eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents  in  all,  and  three  per- 
sons, who  had  had  no  breakfast,  must  be  trans- 
ported to  Berlin ! 

"  '  "It's  impossible !"  said  Anne. 

"'"It's  got  to  be  done!"  said  I. 

"  '  "If  I  have  to  beg  on  the  streets,  it  shall  be 
done !"  cried  Jess,  so  loudly  that  every  one  in  the 
station  looked  in  our  direction. 

" '  "How  much  are  the  tickets  ?"  asked  Anne. 
"Mother  said  to  go  second-class  in  Germany." 

"  *  "I'll  see,"  said  I  officiously,  and  started  to- 
ward a  blue-capped  official  in  a  cage. 


80       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"  '  "You'd  best  hurry,"  cried  Anne.  "The  train 
goes  in  twenty  minutes." 

"  'I  smiled  upon  the  somber  man  in  the  cage 
and  asked  in  my  best  and  clearest  English  how 
much  the  tickets  were.  A  blank  stare  was  his  only 
answer.  He  understood  no  English,  and  to  save 
my  life  I  could  think  of  no  German.  I  stam- 
mered and  stammered  but  with  no  success,  and  in 
a  few  seconds  a  fat  German  lady  with  six  chil- 
dren and  a  dog  had  unceremoniously  pushed  me 
out  of  the  way.  I  tried  another  official  and  an- 
other with  the  same  result.  A  helpless  feeling 
seized  me.  I  looked  at  the  clock.  Five  minutes 
out  of  the  twenty  gone!  I  ran  back  frantically 
to  Jess  and  Anne,  snatched  the  little  red  diction- 
ary, and  was  off  again  in  search  of  still  another 
official.  This  time  I  was  understood,  bad  as  was 
my  German,  but  /  couldn't  understand,  so  things 
were  as  hopeless  as  ever. 

"  'Ten  minutes  before  train  time  I  returned 
desperate  to  my  twin  and  Anne,  and  confessed 
that  honors  in  German  were  of  no  assistance 
whatsoever.  We  gazed  at  one  another  blankly 


Miss  Green  Again  81 

Money  gone — hope  gone — what  should  we  do? 
At  that  moment  Jess  darted  away.  Our  first 
thought  was  that  she  had  spied  Miss  Green,  and 
was  leaving  us  to  our  fate  for  revenge ;  but  a  mo- 
ment later  we  saw  that  she  had  seized  upon  a  tall 
man,  who  had  been  quietly  crossing  the  platform. 
Her  impudence  was  appalling!  She  grabbed  the 
man  by  the  arm  without  a  word  of  explanation, 
and  literally  dragged  him  toward  us.  I  don't 
think  she  had  spoken  to  him  at  all  until  she 
reached  Anne  and  me. 

"  *  "Here,"  she  said,  pointing  a  finger  of  scorn 
at  me,  "here  is  my  sister  who  is  supposed  to  know 
German  and  doesn't.  She'll  tell  you  how  you  can 
help  us  out." 

"  'The  man,  who  wore  a  Thomas  Cook  and  Son 
hat,  was  very  polite  after  he  had  recovered  from 
his  surprise.  I  explained  the  difficulty  we  were 
in  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  he,  in  turn,  said 
that  second-class  tickets  to  Berlin  cost  in  the 
neighborhood  of  four  dollars,  that  the  train  left 
in  seven  minutes,  and  that  if  we  would  give  him 
the  money  he  would  gladly  make  the  purchase. 


82       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"  '  "Four  dollars !"  gasped  Anne.  "Apiece,  you 
mean,  or  together?" 

"  '  "Apiece,"  said  the  man. 

" '  "Then  we  can't  go,"  said  Anne.  "I  knew 
it  all  the  time."  And  she  dropped  in  a  limp  lit- 
tle heap  on  the  bench  near  by  just  as  though  she 
never  could  get  up. 

"  '  "Why,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  the  man. 
"Out  of  money  ?" 

"  Then  Jess,  who  was  really  to  blame,  felt 
called  upon  to  explain. 

"  '  "Yes,  sir,  we  are,"  she  said,  "all  but  eight 
dollars  and  fifty  cents.  You  see,  we  experienced 

a  severe  shock  in  seeing  G Miss  Green,  an 

old  teacher  of  ours,  by  the  drinking-fountain, 
when  we  thought  she  was  in  Athens.  We  didn't 
feel  as  though  we  could  speak  to  her  until — until 
we  had  washed  and  brushed  up  a  little,  and  so 
we — well,  we  ran,  and  somehow  I  lost  our  fam- 
ily purse." 

"  '  "I  see,"  said  the  man. 

'  'He  seemed  very  interested  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  said  we  needn't  worry  at  all  if  we  had  eight 


Miss  Green  Again  83 

dollars  and  a  half.  There  was  another  train  leav- 
ing an  hour  later,  he  said — a  train  which  car- 
ried third-class  carriages.  We  would  be  quite 
safe  in  traveling  that  way,  and  he  would  person- 
ally see  us  on  board,  if  we  wished.  At  that  Anne 
and  her  spirits  arose. 

" '  "Miss  Green,"  he  repeated.  "You  say  she 
was  your  teacher?" 

"  '  "Yes,"  said  I  wonderingly.  "She  most  cer- 
tainly was." 

"  '  "Harriet,  her  given  name  ?"  asked  the  man. 

" '  "Yes !"  cried  Jess  and  Anne  and  I  all  to- 
gether. "You  don't  know  her,  do  you  ?" 

"  *  "An  angular  person  in  a  gray  suit  ?"  he 
continued.  "Wears  spectacles  and " 

"  *  "Crimps,"  interrupted  Jess.  "Yes,  she's 
the  one,  though  she  hasn't  any  this  morn- 
ing. You  see,  at  school  she  always  was  a  little 
— well,  formidable,  and  we " 

"  '  "I  see,"  said  the  man  again.  "Well,  since  I 
know  she's  around  here,  I  may  as  well  wait.  I 
told  her  to  be  at  our  office  just  outside  the  sta- 
tion at  ten  o'clock,  and  it's  nearly  that  now.  You 


84       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

see,"  he  explained,  "she's  been  in  Athens  for  six 
months,  and  she's  very  anxious  to  conduct  a  small 
party  back  there — lecture  on  the  ancient  civiliza- 
tion and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  Per- 
haps, since  she  was  your  teacher,  you'll  be  able 
to  tell  me  how  she'd  do.  She  hasn't  had  time 
to  get  recommendations  for  just  this  sort  of  work, 
you  see." 

"  '  "How — how  long  would  she  be  gone?"  ven- 
tured Jess. 

"  *  "Well,"  explained  the  Thomas  Cook  man, 
"if  she  did  well,  we'd  probably  keep  her  on  the 
force.  We're  always  looking  for  folks  like  that 
— to  take  parties — especially  to  Athens  or  Egypt. 
They're  rare!  This  might  be  a  life  job." 

" '  "I'd  be  willing  to  recommend  her !"  said 
Jess,  a  little  too  promptly,  I  thought. 

" '  "I  think,"  said  Anne,  "it  depends  a  good 
deal  on  the  party  she's  going  to  take." 

"  *  "It  certainly  does,"  I  agreed. 

"  '  "Well,"  said  the  man  again,  "it's  an  easy 
party.  There's  a  professor  who's  nearly  eighty, 
and  who's  wanted  all  his  life  to  go  to  Athens; 


Miss  Green  Again  85 

and  a  minister  who's  trying  to  discover  the  exact 
spot  where  Paul  preached  to  the  Athenians;  and 
a  couple  of  teachers  who  are  something  like  Miss 
Green,  I  think — about  that  type,  you  know. 
They're  terribly  interested  in  the  temples  on  the 
Acropolis." 

" '  "Miss  Green  then  is  certainly  the  woman 
for  you,  sir,"  I  announced,  feeling  like  an  Em- 
ployment Bureau.  "She's  steeped  in  the  Ancient 
World !  She  dotes  on  Rameses  and  the  Pharaohs 
and  the  Tarquins  and  Solon ;  and  she  knows  more 
about  every  one  of  them  than  she  knows  about — 
us,  for  instance." 

"  '  "I  see,"  said  the  man. 

" '  "The  only  reason  we  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment," added  Anne,  "was  because  we  thought 
the  party  might  be  composed  of  young  people, 
and,  you  see,  Miss  Green  has  never  specialized 
to  any  great  extent  in — in — young  life!" 

"  *  "I  understand  perfectly,"  said  our  bene- 
factor. "I  guess  I'll  run  along,  young  ladies. 
She  might  be  in  my  office.  Get  your  tickets  from 
the  man  in  the  red  cap  at  the  largest  window 


86       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

over  there.  He  speaks  English.  Your  train  will 
reach  Berlin  at  seven.  It's  on  track  four.  Don't 
thank  me  at  all.  I'm  indebted  to  you.  Won't 
you  walk  to  the  office  and  see  Miss  Green  ?  She'd 
be  delighted,  I'm  sure!" 

"  'Anne  answered  for  us.  "No,  thank  you," 
she  said.  "I'm  afraid  we  can't.  We  haven't  had 
breakfast  yet,  and  we  must  telegraph  my  mother. 
She'll  expect  us  earlier.  Yes,  thank  you,  I'm  sure 
we  can  manage  quite  well  alone.  Give  Miss 
Green  our  best  regards.  I'm  sure  we  hope  she'll 
be  successful." 

"  'He  shook  hands  all  around. 

"  '  "You  really  think,"  asked  Jess,  a  little  wor- 
ried in  tone,  I  thought,  "you  really  think  it's 
likely  to  be  a  job  for  life?" 

" '  "Yes,"  said  the  man,  "I  do.  I  think  she's 
the  very  woman  I've  been  looking  for." 

"  'Then  he  went.  We  stood  looking  at  one  an- 
other, not  knowing  what  to  say.  It  had  all  been 
too  unexpected. 

"  '  "Well,"  said  Jess  at  last,  "I  don't  know  but 
that  a  job  for  life  is  cheap  at  twenty  dollars.  And, 


Miss  Green  Again  87 

you  know,  she  really  expected  to  return  to  St. 
Helen's  year  after  next." 

"  'We  had  just  time  to  eat  our  belated  break- 
fast, telegraph,  buy  our  tickets,  and  catch  the 
ten  o'clock  train,  which  carried  us  to  Berlin  with- 
out incident,  other  than  embarrassments  arising 
from  my  total  lack  of  German.  We  didn't  mind 
third  class  at  all.  It's  a  lot  more  human.  Mrs. 
Hill  and  Dad  met  us,  and  Dad  forgot  all  about  the 
twenty  dollars  when  we  told  him  about  Greenie. 

"  'I've  given  up  seeing  the  Emperor's  stables 
to  tell  you  all  of  this,  and  I  hope  you  appreciate 
it.  Jess  and  Anne  send  loads  of  love  to  all  of 
you,  and  so  do  I.  I  can't  believe  Wyoming  is 
any  better  than  Germany! 

"  'JEAN.'  " 

"I  can't  help  wondering,  Virginia,"  said  Priscilla, 
after  they  had  all  laughed  again  over  Jean's  letter, 
"I  can't  help  wondering  whether  Greenie  will  con- 
sider this  vocation  thrust  upon  her !" 

"That's  just  what  I  was  wondering,  too,"  returned 
[Virginia. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   VIGILANTES    HOMESTEAD 

"JOHN,  do  you  really  think  it's  safe?" 

It  was  Aunt  Nan  who  asked  the  question.  Mr. 
Hunter  laughed. 

"Safe,  Nan?  They  couldn't  be  safer.  There's 
nothing  in  the  wide  world  to  hurt  them  out  there 
on  the  mesa.  They're  safer  there,  in  my  opinion, 
than  any  place  I  know,  and  if  they  want  to  know 
what  homesteading  is  like,  why  let  them  homestead 
for  a  night!  It  won't  hurt  them  a  bit.  If  they 
go  back  to  school  with  a  few  of  Jean  MacDonald's 
ideas,  they'll  be  very  fortunate." 

"It  seems  as  though  I  ought  to  go,"  said  Aunt 
Nan,  "and  still  I  don't  know  that  my  being  there 
would  do  any  good." 

"Not  a  bit,"  returned  Virginia's  father.  "Rough- 
ing it  at  seventeen  and  thirty  are  two  entirely  dif- 
ferent experiences.  Stay  at  home  and  be  civilized, 

88 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          89 

but  let  them  go  and  don't  worry  for  a  moment. 
They'll  show  up  to-morrow  safe  and  sound  with 
another  bran-new  experience  for  their  Thought 
Books.  See  if  they  don't!" 

So  it  happened  that  Aunt  Nan  was  convinced  and 
gave  her  consent  to  Virginia's  just-born  and  dearly- 
beloved  plan — namely,  that  the  four  Vigilantes 
should  homestead  for  Jean  MacDonald  during 
her  absence  of  one  night  from  her  cabin  on  the 
mesa.  Jean  had  ridden  over  that  morning  on  her 
way  to  town  to  spend  the  night  with  a  friend,  and 
Virginia's  plan  had  sprung  full-born  like  Athena 
from  the  head  of  Zeus. 

"Don't  you  want  us  to  homestead  for  you,  Jean, 
while  you're  away?"  she  had  asked. 

Jean  had  gladly  accepted  the  offer.  "It  would  be 
just  the  thing,"  she  said.  Then  they  could  really 
see  why  she  loved  the  mesa  as  she  did,  and  espe- 
cially her  very  own  corner  of  it.  The  dogs  would 
be  glad  of  company,  for  she  had  driven  the  three 
cows  that  very  morning  to  the  neighboring  home- 
stead, and  except  for  the  chickens,  Watch  and  King 
were  all  alone.  The  cabin  door  had  no  lock,  and 


90       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

they  might  go  right  in  and  make  themselves  at  home. 
There  was  an  extra  cot  in  the  kitchen,  bedding  in 
plenty,  and  loads  of  food  supplies.  She  would  sim- 
ply love  to  have  them  do  it! 

Virginia  had  turned  questioningly  to  the  listen- 
ing Vigilantes. 

"Let's!"  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  do  let's!"  cried  Priscilla. 

"Of  course,"  faltered  Vivian,  insuperably  buoyed 
up  by  company. 

"All  right,"  said  Jean  MacDonald  as  she  turned 
Robert  Bruce  toward  the  road.  "It's  settled  then! 
There's  plenty  of  butter  and  milk  in  the  creek-re- 
frigerator— I  left  them  there — and  lots  of  fish  in 
the  creek.  You'll  have  to  rustle  your  own 
wood,  I  guess.  Help  yourselves  to  everything! 
Good-by!" 

William,  who  was  working  among  his  flowers, 
had  waited  only  for  Aunt  Nan's  approval.  Now 
that  it  had  come,  he  was  off  to  saddle  the  horses, 
while  the  excited  Vigilantes  flew  to  get  into  their 
riding-clothes. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  dared  to  suggest  it,  Virginia," 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          91 

said  Priscilla,  struggling  with  her  boot  lacings.  "I 
thought  of  it,  too — that's  what  I  meant  by  nudging 
you — but,  of  course,  I  wouldn't  have  liked  to  pro- 
pose it.  In  the  two  weeks  I've  been  here,  I've  had 
the  best  time  I  ever  had  in  my  life,  and  I  really 
believe  this  is  going  to  be  the  best  of  all." 

"I  suppose,"  observed  Virginia,  "that  the  boys 
will  be  more  or  less  disappointed  because  we  won't 
be  here  to  go  on  the  gopher  hunt,  but  we  can  shoot 
dozens  of  gophers  any  day." 

"Of  course,"  returned  Vivian,  who  had  never 
shot  one  in  her  life. 

"Of  course,"  echoed  Mary,  who  was  in  the  same 
class  with  Vivian. 

"Besides,"  continued  Priscilla,  "the  experience  of 
shooting  a  gopher,  while  doubtless  thrilling  in  the 
extreme,  doesn't  compare  for  one  moment  with 
homesteading.  Do  you  know,  girls,  I  believe  I'll 
take  along  my  Thought  Book.  Something  might 
come  to  me !" 

"I  would,  if  I  were  you,"  acquiesced  Virginia. 
"No,  Hannah,  dear,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  faith- 
ful retainer  in  the  doorway,  "we  don't  want  a  thing 


92       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

to  eat.  Thank  you  just  as  much.  It  wouldn't  be 
homesteading  at  all  if  we  carried  food.  Jean  says 
there  are  plenty  of  supplies  out  there.  We're  just 
going  to  take  our  night-dresses  and  combs  and 
tooth-brushes  and  Priscilla's  Thought  Book." 

Hannah  smiled  dubiously. 

"Supplies  is  all  right,  deary,"  said  she,  "but  who's 
going  to  cook  them?" 

"I  can  make  biscuits,  I  think,"  offered  Mary.  "At 
least,  I  did  once." 

Virginia  thought  for  a  moment,  uncertain  of 
her  contribution. 

"I'm  sure  I  can  fry  fish,"  she  said.  "I've  seen 
you  do  it  a  hundred  times,  Hannah." 

Priscilla  and  Vivian,  not  being  culinary  experts, 
made  no  promises;  but  Virginia,  even  in  the  face 
of  discouragement,  still  insisted  that  they  take 
nothing. 

"Then  don't  go  till  after  dinner,"  called  Aunt 
Nan  from  her  room.  "It  will  be  ready  in  an  hour." 

"Better  wait,"  reiterated  Mr.  Hunter.  "William's 
had  to  go  on  the  range  a  piece  for  the  horses,  any- 
way." 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          93 

So  it  was  after  dinner  that  the  four  home- 
steaders started  for  their  borrowed  claim,  leaving 
behind  three  disgusted  boys  armed  for  a  gopher 
hunt,  an  amused  father,  an  interested  William, 
a  still  doubtful  Aunt  Nan,  and  a  much-worried 
Hannah. 

"Can't  we  even  come  to  call?"  asked  Carver,  hold- 
ing Vivian's  horse  for  her  to  mount. 

"No,  Carver,"  said  Virginia  sweetly,  "you  can't. 
We  want  to  see  how  it  will  really  seem  to  be  home- 
steading  all  alone.  We'll  be  back  by  noon  to-mor- 
row, and  will  go  after  gophers  in  the  afternoon, 
if  you  want  to  wait.  If  you  don't,  it's  all  right." 

"Why  not  invite  us  to  supper?"  suggested  Don- 
ald. "We'll  go  directly  afterward,  and  won't  come 
too  early." 

"I  should  say  not,"  cried  Priscilla,  much  to  Han- 
nah's amusement  as  they  galloped  away.  "Supper 
is  to  be  an  experiment  for  us,  and  we  don't  want 
any  guests." 

They  rode  south  through  the  hills  to  Elk  Creek 
Valley,  where  the  pink  and  blue  of  the  blossoms 
were  fading  a  little  in  the  August  sun.  It  would 


94       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

be  a  golden  Valley  soon,  Virginia  said — yellow  with 
sun-flowers  and  golden-rod.  Then  they  climbed 
the  foot-hills  to  the  mesa,  and  rode  eagerly 
toward  their  newly-acquired  cabin  in  the  southwest 
corner. 

"I  feel  exactly  like  the  owner,"  confided  Vir- 
ginia, urging  Pedro  forward  toward  their  goal. 
"I'm  wondering  if  anything  has  happened  since  my 
trip  to  town." 

Apparently  nothing  had  happened.  The  cabin 
was  slumbering  peacefully  in  the  August  sunshine. 
Watch  and  King,  however,  were  wide  awake.  They 
came  bounding  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
ready  to  guard  their  mistress'  property  from  all 
intruders.  But  in  their  superior  dog  wisdom  they 
soon  remembered  that  these  young  ladies  were  the 
friends  who  a  few  days  before  had  made  their  mis- 
tress happy,  and  they  gave  the  Vigilantes  a  royal 
welcome — both  for  Jean  and  for  themselves. 

Virginia  considered  matters  for  a  moment  be- 
fore dismounting. 

"I  think  I'll  leave  Pedro's  bridle  on,"  she  said. 
"Then  he  won't  stray  far,  and  the  others  will  keep 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          95 

near  him.  We'll  unsaddle  and  put  the  things  on 
the  porch.  Then  that  will  be  done.  It's  three 
o'clock  now,"  she  continued,  consulting  her  watch, 
"and  I  don't  think  it  would  be  a  bad  plan  to  get 
settled  and  consider  supper,  do  you?" 

No,  they  did  not,  they  told  her,  as  they  dis- 
mounted. Virginia,  with  Pedro  unsaddled  and 
eager  to  feed,  proudly  watched  Vivian  as  she  tugged 
at  Siwash's  saddle-straps,  and  took  off  his  bridle. 
It  was  some  time  since  Vivian  had  asked  assist- 
ance. Her  heart  might  be  beating  fearfully  inside 
— it  probably  was — when  Siwash  shook  his  head  im- 
patiently and  stamped  a  foot ;  but  only  an  instinctive 
backward  movement  proved  that  the  fear  was  still 
there. 

"Vivian's  making  new  roots  every  day,"  Vir- 
ginia said  to  herself,  "and  deep  ones,  too."  And 
she  smiled  encouragingly  into  Vivian's  blue  eyes,  as, 
the  horses  freed,  they  carried  the  saddles,  blankets, 
and  bridles  to  the  porch. 

Jean  MacDonald  was  right.  The  cabin  door 
would  not  lock.  Three  Vigilantes  looked  somewhat 
askance  at  one  another  when  this  fact  was  made 


96       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

known,  though  the  fourth  seemed  not  to  consider 
it  at  all.  The  cot  in  the  kitchen  was  examined  and 
pronounced  comfortable. 

"At  least  as  comfortable  as  one  would  wish, 
homesteading  for  one  night,"  said  Priscilla. 

Lots  were  drawn  for  beds  and  companions. 
Vivian  and  Virginia,  it  was  thus  decided,  should 
sleep  in  the  living-room,  and  Priscilla  and  Mary 
in  the  kitchen. 

"Of  course,  we  could  move  the  kitchen  cot  into 
the  living-room,"  said  Virginia,  "but  it  really  isn't 
worth  the  trouble  where  the  door  is  so  small.  Be- 
sides, you  girls  don't  feel  the  least  bit  frightened 
about  sleeping  out  there,  anyway." 

Mary  looked  at  Priscilla  and  Priscilla  looked  at 
Mary.  Not  for  veritable  worlds  would  they  have 
confided  to  Virginia  the  joy  which  would  fill  their 
hearts  if  that  refractory  kitchen  cot  could  be  moved 
into  the  living-room;  not  for  untold  riches  would 
they  have  confessed  the  sinking  feeling  which  at- 
tacked them  upon  the  thought  of  sleeping  in  the 
kitchen  nearest  that  unlocked  door.  A  bear  might 
push  open  that  door,  or  a  mountain  lion  roar  out- 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          97 

side  their  window — they  would  be  game  to  the 
end! 

"Now,"  announced  Virginia,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  sensations  which  were  agitating  her  friends,  "I 
think  we'd  best  begin  to  get  supper.  It  may  take 
some  time.  Mary,  I  see  there's  a  cook  book  in 
the  kitchen.  If  you've  made  biscuits  only  once, 
it  might  be  well  for  you  to  study  up  a  little.  Vivian 
can  set  the  table,  and  get  some  lettuce  from  the 
garden.  I'll  rustle  the  wood  for  the  fire,  and  get 
the  potatoes  ready.  Hannah  told  me  to  bake  them 
about  an  hour.  Priscilla,  why  don't  you  take  one 
of  Jean's  rods  and  follow  up  the  creek?  There  are 
some  quaking-asps  in  a  shady  place  up  a  little  way, 
and  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  at  all  if  you  got  a  trout 
there.  Use  some  of  those  little  dark  flies — they're 
good  this  kind  of  a  day.  Come  to  think  of  it,  Jean 
has  some  already  on.  You  might  add  a  grass- 
hopper or  two.  There'll  be  plenty  of  them  hopping 
around.  Pinch  their  noses  and  they'll  keep  still." 

Priscilla,  armed  with  Virginia's  directions,  and 
a  total  lack  of  experience,  took  the  rod  and  went 
her  way.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  caught  a  fish, 


98       Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

but  the  zest  of  a  possible  catch  seized  her.  If  she 
could  only  get  one,  it  would  be  something  more  to 
tell  Alden,  and  might  elicit  praise  as  high  as  the 
bear-trapping  experience  had  done.  She  saw  the 
quaking-asps  some  rods  above  the  cabin,  crawled 
under  the  wire  fence,  and  went  toward  them.  Some- 
thing hopped  out  of  her  way.  A  grasshopper !  She 
jumped,  but  missed  him!  Personally  she  did  not 
care  for  the  feel  of  grasshoppers,  and  their  kindred 
of  crawly  things,  but  if  she  would  accomplish  her 
purpose,  she  must  procure  one.  She  dropped  on  her 
knees,  and  began  her  search.  There  were  grass- 
hoppers in  plenty,  but  they  were  of  a  very  swift 
variety.  Priscilla  darted  and  dove  on  this  side  and 
that  before  she  finally  caught  her  prey.  With  loath- 
ing and  disgust  she  proceeded  to  pinch  his  nose 
and  render  him  helpless.  She  placed  him  awk- 
wardly and  none  too  securely  on  the  hook  beneath 
the  little  black  fly,  strode  to  the  quaking-asps,  dis- 
entangled her  rod  and  line  a  dozen  times,  and  at 
length  managed  to  drop  the  baited  hook  into  the 
creek.  Then  she  straightened  her  weary  form, 
grasped  her  rod  firmly  in  her  right  hand  and  waited. 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead          99 

The  question  was — should  she  do  anything  more 
than  wait?  Were  one's  chances  of  success  greater 
if  she  wiggled  the  rod?  Should  one  just  stand  still 
or  walk  back  and  forth,  dragging  the  line  after 
her? 

If  the  trout  in  the  dark  pool  under  the  shadow 
of  the  quaking-asps  had  seen  the  performance  that 
preceded  the  appearance  of  that  fly  and  grasshopper, 
he  never  would  have  deigned  to  approach  them.  But 
his  late  afternoon  nap  had  fortunately  prevented, 
and  now  supper  was  before  his  very  eyes.  He  darted 
for  the  grasshopper  and  securely  seized  it.  Pris- 
cilla,  standing  motionless  upon  the  bank,  felt  a 
tremor  go  through  the  rod  in  her  hand,  saw  the  tip 
bend,  felt  a  frightful  tug  as  the  fish  darted  down- 
stream. Something  told  her  that  her  dream  was 
realized — that  she  had  at  least  hooked  a  fish ! 

Had  the  fish  in  question  been  less  greedy,  he  would 
have  assuredly  made  his  escape.  Priscilla  knew 
nothing  of  the  rules  of  angling.  She  only  knew 
that  she  should  never  recover  from  chagrin  and 
shame  if  that  fish  eluded  her.  She  dropped  the  rod, 
grasped  the  line  tightly  in  both  hands,  slid  down 


100     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  bank,  stood  in  the  creek  to  her  boot-tops,  and 
pulled  with  all  her  might.  The  trout,  hindered  by 
surprise  as  well  as  greediness,  surrendered,  and  Pris- 
cilla  with  trembling  hands  and  glowing  eyes  drew 
him  to  shore. 

It  never  occurred  to  her  to  take  him  from  the 
hook.  Her  one  thought  was  to  notify  the  Vigilantes 
of  her  success.  Holding  the  line  in  one  hand,  just 
above  the  flapping,  defeated  trout,  and  grasping 
the  rod  in  the  other,  she  ran  with  all  her  might  to 
the  cabin,  burst  in  the  door,  and  exhibited  her  fish 
and  her  dripping,  triumphant  self  to  the  Vigilantes. 
Fears  of  unlocked  doors  had  fled !  It  was  still  light, 
and  she  was  a  conqueror! 

Supper  that  night,  in  spite  of  Hannah's  fears, 
was  an  unqualified  success.  Memory  and  the  cook- 
book had  sufficed  to  make  very  creditable  biscuits, 
the  trout,  rather  demolished  by  vigorous  cleaning, 
lay,  brown  and  sizzling,  in  a  nest  of  fresh  lettuce 
leaves,  and  the  potatoes  were  perfect. 

"Isn't  it  fun?"  cried  Virginia,  as  they  ate  the  last 
crumb.  "It's  better  even  than  I  thought." 

"It's  lovely,"  said  Vivian,  "only  I  feel  just  the 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead        101 

same  way  that  I  did  about  staying  all  alone  as  Jean 
does.  Look  outside,  Virginia.  It's  getting  dark 
already!" 

"Yes,"  answered  Virginia,  going  to  the  window, 
"it  does  in  August,  though  the  twilights  stay  like 
this  a  long  time.  See,  there's  a  star!  Doesn't  it 
twinkle?  You  can  actually  see  the  points!  Let's 
wish  on  it.  I  wish — let  me  see — I  wish  for  the 
loveliest  year  at  St.  Helen's  we  could  possibly  have 
— a  year  we'll  remember  all  our  lives!" 

"I  wish,"  said  Mary,  "that  college  may  be  just 
as  lovely,  and  that  I'll  make  as  good  new  friends 
as  you  all  are." 

"I  wish,"  said  Priscilla  thoughtfully,  "I  wish  I 
may  be  just  as  good  a  Senior  Monitor  as  you  were, 
Mary." 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  my  wish,"  said  Vivian 
softly.  "It's — it's  too  much  about  me." 

Dishes  were  washed  and  dogs  and  chickens  fed. 
Then  they  came  out-of-doors  in  the  ever-deepening 
stillness  to  watch  the  moon  rise  over  the  blue  shad- 
owy mountains,  and  look  down  upon  the  mesa,  upon 
the  horses  feeding  some  rods  away  among  the  sage- 


102     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

brush,  and  upon  them  as  they  stood  together  a  lit- 
tle distance  from  the  cabin. 

"Isn't  it  still?"  whispered  Vivian,  holding  Vir- 
ginia's hand.  "You  can  just  hear  the  silence  in  your 
ears.  I  believe  it's  louder  than  the  creek!" 

"I  love  it!"  said  Mary,  unlocked  doors  all  for- 
gotten in  a  blessed,  all-together  feeling.  "See  the 
stars  come  out  one  by  one.  You  can  almost  see 
them  opening  the  doors  of  Heaven  before  they  look 
through.  I  never  saw  so  many  in  all  my  life.  And 
isn't  the  sky  blue?  It's  never  that  way  at  home !" 

"I  can  understand  better  than  ever,  Virginia,"  said 
Priscilla,  "how  you  used  to  feel  at  school  when 
we  would  open  the  French  doors  and  go  out  on 
the  porch.  You  said  it  wasn't  satisfying  someway. 
I  thought  I  understood  on  the  getting-acquainted 
trip,  but  now  I  know  better  than  ever." 

"It  makes  you  feel  like  whispering,  doesn't  it?" 
Vivian  whispered  again.  "It's  all  so  big  and  we're 
so  little.  But  it  doesn't  scare  me  so  much  now." 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Virginia  softly,  "of 
Matthew  Arnold's  poem — the  one  on  Self-Depend- 
ence, you  know,  Vivian,  which  we  had  in  class,  and 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead        103 

which  Miss  Wallace  likes  so  much.  Of  course,  he 
was  on  the  sea  when  he  thought  of  it,  but  so  are 
we — on  a  prairie  sea — and  I'm  sure  the  stars  were 
never  brighter,  even  there.  I  learned  it  because  I 
think  it  expresses  the  way  one  feels  out  here.  I 
used  to  feel  little,  too,  Vivian,  but  I  don't  any  more. 
I  feel  just  as  though  some  strange  thing  inside  of 
me  were  trying  to  reach  the  stars.  It's  just  as 
though  all  the  little  things  that  have  bothered  you 
were  gone  away — just  as  though  you  were  ready 
to  learn  real  things  from  the  stars  and  the  silence 
and  the  mountains — learn  how  to  be  like  them,  I 
mean.  You  know  what  he  said  in  the  poem,  Vivian 
— the  stanza  about  the  stars — the  one  Miss  Wallace 
loves  the  best: 

'Unaffrighted  by  the  silence  round  them, 

Undistracted  by  the  sights  they  see, 
These  demand  not  that  the  things  without  them 

Yield  them  love,  amusement,  sympathy.' " 

Vivian  sighed — a  long,  deep  sigh  that  somehow 
drew  them  closer  together. 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  be  like  that,"  she  said. 
"I'm  afraid  I'll  always  want  sympathy  and — love !" 


104     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"But  it  doesn't  mean  that,  Vivian,"  explained 
Virginia.  "I'm  sure  it  doesn't.  Of  course,  we  all 
want  those  things — more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world.  But  I  think  it  means  just  as  Miss  Wallace 
said,  that  instead  of  demanding  them  we're  to  live 
so — so  nobly  that  they  will  come  to  us — unsought, 
you  know.  Doesn't  that  make  it  a  little  easier,  don't 
you  think?" 

The  August  night  grew  cold,  and  soon  they  went 
indoors  to  a  friendship  fire  in  the  stone  fire-place. 
They  watched  the  flames  roar  up  the  chimney,  then 
crackle  cheerily,  and  at  last  flicker  away  to  little 
blue  tongues,  which  died  almost  as  soon  as  they  were 
born.  There  was  no  other  light  in  the  cabin.  Vir- 
ginia had  said  that  none  was  needed,  and  she  did 
not  notice  the  apprehensive  glances  which  the  other 
Vigilantes  cast  around  the  shadowy,  half -lit  room. 
At  last  Vivian  yawned. 

"Nine  o'clock,"  said  Virginia.  "Bed-time!  I 
guess  we  can  see  to  undress  by  moonlight,  can't 
we?" 

"What  shall  we  do  about  the  door?"  asked  Mary 
hesitatingly.  "It  won't  lock,  vou  know." 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead        105 

"That  won't  matter,"  said  Virginia  carelessly, 
while  she  covered  the  fire-brands  with  ashes. 
"There's  no  one  in  the  world  around.  Besides, 
Watch  and  King  will  take  care  of  things.  You 
don't  feel  afraid,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no!"  announced  Priscilla,  trying  her  best 
to  ape  Virginia's  careless  manner,  and  determined 
to  act  like  a  good  sport  at  least. 

"Oh,  no !"  echoed  Mary  faintly. 

Vivian  was  unspeakably  glad  that  her  lot  had 
fallen  with  Virginia,  and  that  their  bed  was  in 
the  farther  corner  of  the  living-room. 

"I  wish  Dorothy  were  here!"  Virginia  called 
fifteen  minutes  later  to  the  brave  souls  on  the  kitchen 
cot.  "Then  'twould  be  perfectly  perfect.  Good- 
night, everybody.  Sweet  dreams!" 

"Sweet  dreams!"  whispered  Priscilla  to  Mary, 
while  she  clutched  Mary's  hand.  "I  don't  expect 
to  have  a  dream  to-night!  Mary,  don't  go  to  sleep 
before  I  do!  We'll  have  to  manage  it  somehow! 
I'll  die  if  you  do!" 

"I  won't,"  promised  Mary. 

But  they  were  tired  from  excitement,  and  sleep 


106     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

came  in  spite  of  unlocked  doors.  A  half  hour 
passed  and  every  homesteader  was  sleeping  soundly. 
The  night  wore  on,  midnight  passed,  and  the  still, 
stiller  hours  of  the  early  morning  came.  It  was 
yet  dark  when  Mary  was  rudely  awakened  by  her 
room-mate  kicking  her  with  all  her  might.  She  sat 
up  in  bed,  dazed,  frightened.  Priscilla  was  cling- 
ing to  her. 

"Oh,  Mary !"  she  breathed.  "Listen !  There  are 
footsteps  outside  our  window!  There  are,  I  tell 
you !  Listen !" 

Mary  listened.  Her  heart  was  in  her  mouth  and 
choking  her.  Yes,  there  were  unmistakably  foot- 
steps outside.  As  they  listened,  the  sound  of  breath- 
ing became  apparent. 

"It  isn't  our  breathing,  Mary,"  Priscilla  whis- 
pered. "I  tell  you  it  isn't!  It's — oh,  the  steps  are 
coming  nearer!  They're  on  the  path!  Oh,  Vir- 
ginia! V-i-r-g-i-n-i-a!  V-I-R-G-I-N-I-A ! !" 

The  last  word  ended  in  a  mighty  shout,  which 
awoke  Virginia  and  the  terrified  Vivian.  Before 
the  shout  was  fairly  completed,  the  cot  in  the  living- 
room  was  groaning  beneath  an  added  weight,  and 


The  Vigilantes  Homestead         107 

Virginia,  striving  to  rise,  was  encumbered  by  three 
pair  of  arms. 

"Let  me  go,  girls!"  she  cried.  "Let  me  go,  I 
tell  you!  No  one's  coming  into  this  cabin  unless 
I  say  so!  Remember  that!" 

By  this  time  the  steps  were  on  the  porch.  Vir- 
ginia, finally  free  from  embraces  and  on  her  feet, 
reached  for  Jean  MacDonald's  gun,  and  started  for 
the  door,  which  she  was  just  too  late  to  open.  In- 
stead, the  visitor  from  without  pushed  it  open,  and 
the  terrified  Vigilantes  on  the  bed,  hearing  Vir- 
ginia laugh,  raised  their  frightened  heads  from  the 
pillows  to  meet  the  astonished  gaze  of  poor  old 
Siwash ! 

"Don't  ever  let  the  boys  know,"  warned  Vir- 
ginia, as  she  returned  from  escorting  Siwash  to  the 
gate  and  out  upon  the  mesa.  "We'll  never  hear 
the  last  of  it  if  you  do.  'Twas  our  own  fault.  We 
didn't  close  the  gate,  that's  all,  and  Siwash  has  al- 
ways loved  company!" 

So  the  boys  never  knew,  though  they  wondered 
not  a  little  at  the  significant  and  secret  glances  which 
the  Vigilantes  exchanged  upon  their  arrival  home 


108     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  next  morning,  and  at  intervals  during  the  days 
that  followed  whenever  homesteading  became  the 
topic  of  conversation.  Once  Aunt  Nan,  to  whom 
also  the  secret  was  denied,  attempted  to  probe  the 
mystery,  choosing  Vivian  as  the  most  likely  source 
of  information. 

"Did  you  really  have  a  splendid  time,  Vivian?" 
she  asked. 

"We  certainly  did,  Aunt  Nan,"  answered  the  loyal 
Vivian.  "I  never  had  a  better  time  in  all  my  life. 
Only  one  night  of  homesteading  is  enough  for  me. 
There  are  lots  of  things  I  envy  Jean  MacDonald, 
but  homesteading  isn't  one  of  them!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AUNT  DEBORAH    HUNTER PIONEER 

AUNT  DEBORAH  HUNTER  was  driving  from  her 
ranch  on  Snake  Creek  to  spend  the  day  with  her 
nephew,  her  grand-niece,  and  her  grand-niece's 
guests.  Clad  in  her  best  black  silk  dress,  her  black 
bonnet  with  the  red  cherries  on  the  front,  and  her 
well-darned  black  cotton  gloves,  she  was  sitting 
up,  very  straight  and  stiff,  beside  Alec  on  the  front 
seat.  One  would  have  said  that  her  dignity  forbade 
her  to  rest  her  shoulders,  doubtless  tired  from  the 
fifteen  mile  drive.  Still,  it  was  not  altogether  dig- 
nity which  made  Aunt  Deborah  scorn  the  support 
of  the  cushions  which  Alec  had  placed  behind  her. 
A  great  part  of  it  was  eagerness. 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  she  had  left  her 
ranch  even  for  a  day.  No  one  there  could  attend 
to  things  quite  so  well  as  she  herself,  she  always 
insisted.  But  now,  between  shearing  and  thresh- 

109 


no     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ing,  she  had  chosen  a  day  upon  which  to  accept 
Virginia's  and  her  father's  oft-repeated  invitation, 
and  it  was  a  festive  occasion  for  her.  Truth  to  tell, 
she  needed  one  day  a  year,  she  said,  "to  meet  folks." 
For  the  remaining  three  hundred  and  sixty- four,  the 
hired  man,  her  two  dogs,  an  occasional  visitor, 
her  thoughts,  and  the  mountains  were  quite 
enough. 

If  the  infrequent  passer-by  had  paused  long 
enough  to  look  into  Aunt  Deborah's  gray  eyes  be- 
neath the  cherry-trimmed  bonnet,  he  would  have 
seen  therein  the  eagerness  that  made  their  owner 
scorn  the  sofa-pillows.  It  sparkled  and  beamed, 
now  on  this  side,  now  on  that,  as  she  spied  blue 
gentians  blossoming  in  a  hollow,  and  the  gold  which 
was  already  creeping  over  the  wheat;  it  glowed  as 
she  looked  at  the  mountains,  and  shone  as  she  drew 
long  breaths  of  the  clear,  bracing  air;  it  was  the 
self -same  eagerness  which  lay  deep  in  the  gray  eyes 
of  her  grand-niece  Virginia. 

As  they  drew  near  their  journey's  end,  and  came 
in  sight  of  the  white  ranch-house  behind  the  cot- 
tonwoods,  Aunt  Deborah  made  her  final  prepara- 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    ill 

tions.  With  her  handkerchief  she  brushed  every 
speck  of  dust  from  her  black  dress,  settled  the 
old-fashioned  brooch  at  her  neck,  gave  a  final 
straightening  to  her  bonnet,  and  pulled  her  cotton 
gloves  on  more  smoothly  before  again  folding  her 
hands  on  her  lap.  She  sat  up  straighter  than  ever 
as  Alec  turned  the  horse  down  the  lane. 

She  seemed  a  little  troubled  about  something 
when  she  saw  the  group  of  young  people  gathered 
at  the  porch  and  waiting  for  her. 

"Alec,"  she  whispered,  "the  cherries  on  my  bon- 
net? They  worry  me.  I  want  to  be  young,  but 
being  long  toward  eighty  I  mustn't  be  childish. 
What  do  you  think,  Alec  ?  I  wouldn't  displease  Vir- 
ginia for  anything!" 

"Couldn't  be  nicer,  ma'am,"  reassured  Alec. 
"You  need  'em  for  a  touch  o'  life  to  your  black." 

Thus  assured,  the  little  old  lady  sat  in  state, 
her  eyes  glowing  and  her  folded  hands  trembling 
with  excitement. 

"No,  John,"  she  said  a  few  moments  later,  as 
she  declined  Mr.  Hunter's  outstretched  arms.  "No, 
thank  you.  When  I  get  so  I  have  to  be  lifted  out, 


112     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

I'm  not  coming  any  more.    Turn  just  a  little  more, 
Alec.    There!    Here  I  am!" 

It  was  her  grand-niece  whom  she  greeted  first. 

"My  dear!"  she  cried,  holding  the  tall,  gray- 
eyed  girl  at  arms'  length.  "How  you  grow !  John, 
she's  grown  an  inch  since  she  rode  over  a  month 
ago.  I  believe  upon  my  soul  she  has.  And  looks 
more  like  you  every  day !  Kiss  your  old  aunt,  dear ! 
She's  plum  proud  of  you!" 

Then  she  turned  to  the  others,  whom  Virginia  ' 
proudly  introduced  one  by  one. 

"It's  a  blessed  sight — all  these  young  folks  to- 
gether," she  said,  shaking  hands  with  them  all.  "Ex- 
cept for  Pioneer  Reunions,  I  haven't  seen  so  many 
all  to  once  for  fifty  years.  And  so  you  all  come 
from  away  back  East — the  place  we  used  to  call 
home  ?  It  ain't  that  any  longer  to  us  old  folks — but 
the  memories  are  dear  all  the  same!" 

She  stepped  briskly  upon  the  porch  and  toward 
the  chair  Virginia  had  placed  for  her.  The  Vigi- 
lantes and  Aunt  Nan  watched  her,  fascinated.  Vir- 
ginia had  told  them  of  her  wedding  journey  across 
the  plains  in  '64;  of  the  hardships  and  dangers  she 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    113 

had  withstood;  of  lonely  winter  days  in  a  sod  hut, 
and  of  frightful  perils  from  Indians.  She  seemed 
so  little  someway  sitting  there,  so  frail  and  wrin- 
kled in  the  big  chair.  It  was  almost  incredible  that 
she  had  lived  through  such  terrible  things.  They 
longed  to  hear  the  story  of  it  all  from  her  own  lips. 
Virginia's  recital  was  thrilling  enough !  What  then 
must  Aunt  Deborah's  be? 

But  Aunt  Deborah  was  in  no  haste  to  talk  about 
herself !  She  was  far  more  interested  in  Virginia's 
friends — their  respective  homes  and  families — their 
school  life  and  their  plans  and  dreams  for  the 
future.  Somehow  the  Vigilantes  found  it  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  tell  Aunt  Deborah  their  am- 
bitions. Aunt  Nan  found  it  easy,  too,  to  speak  of 
Virginia's  mother  to  this  dear  old  lady  who  had 
known  and  loved  her.  Virginia  held  Aunt  Nan's 
hand  close  in  her  own  as  they  heard  Aunt  Deborah 
tell  of  Mary  Webster's  coming  to  Wyoming;  then 
a  far  rougher  land  than  now;  of  her  brave  fight 
against  homesickness ;  of  her  transformation  of  the 
Buffalo  Horn  School ;  and,  finally,  of  the  fierce  strug- 
gle within  herself  over  whether  she  should  return 


114     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

to  Vermont  or  stay  to  marry  a  Wyoming  ranch- 
man. 

"My  nephew  John,"  finished  Aunt  Deborah 
proudly.  "A  good  man.  None  other  than  a  good 
man  could  have  won  Mary  Webster." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  she  stayed!"  cried  Aunt  Nan, 
a  big  lump  in  her  throat  and  her  eyes  brimming  with 
tears.  "I'm  so  glad — Aunt  Deborah!"  She  took 
one  of  the  little  old  lady's  hands  in  hers.  "We're 
all  together  now,"  she  said,  "New  England  and  the 
West.  There's  no  difference  any  longer,  is  there, 
Virginia?" 

"No,  Aunt  Nan,"  said  Virginia,  choking  down  the 
lump  in  her  own  throat.  "There's  not  a  bit  of  dif- 
ference. And  somehow  I'm  sure  Mother  knows. 
Aren't  you,  Aunt  Deborah?" 

"Something  inside  of  me  says  that  she  does,"  said 
Aunt  Deborah  softly.  "You  see,  dears,  even  Heaven 
can't  blot  out  the  lovely  things  of  earth!  At  least, 
that's  how  it  seems  to  me!" 

A  moment  later,  and  Mr.  Hunter  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  porch. 

"John,"  cried  Aunt  Deborah  gayly,  "don't  let's 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    115 

worry  one  bit  about  this  old  world!  With  these 
young  folks  to  write  the  books,  and  teach  the  schools, 
and  take  care  of  the  homeless  babies,  we're  safe 
for  years  to  come !  Come  and  tell  me  all  about  the 
wheat." 

So  the  morning  passed,  and  at  noon  Malcolm  and 
Donald,  Jack  and  Carver  rode  over  for  dinner,  and 
for  Aunt  Deborah's  stories,  which  Virginia  had 
promised  them.  Aunt  Deborah's  talent  for  listen- 
ing won  them  also,  and  they  told  her  their  ambi- 
tions quite  as  eagerly  as  the  Vigilantes  had  done. 
All  but  Malcolm — he  was  strangely  silent!  Dinner 
was  served  on  the  lawn  beneath  the  cotton- 
woods.  Joe  and  Dick  brought  out  the  large  table, 
which  was  soon  set  by  Hannah  and  her  four  eager 
assistants.  It  was  a  jolly  meal,  quite  the  merriest 
person  being  Aunt  Deborah. 

"It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  to  grow  old  if  you  could 
be  sure  of  being  like  that,  would  it  ?"  whispered  Car- 
ver Standish  III  to  Malcolm. 

"No,"  said  Malcolm  absent-mindedly,  looking  at 
Aunt  Nan.  "No,  it  wouldn't !" 

"Now,  Aunt  Deborah,"  began  Virginia,  when  the 


116     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

things  were  cleared  away,  "you  know  you  promised 
you'd  tell  stories.  You  will,  won't  you  ?" 

Aunt  Deborah's  gray  eyes  swept  the  circle  of  in- 
terested faces  raised  to  her  own. 

"Why,  of  course  I  will,  Virginia,"  she  said. 
"Where  shall  I  begin?" 

"At  the  very  beginning,"  suggested  Carver  and 
Jack  together.  "We  want  it  all,  please." 

"I'm  glad  William  put  marigolds  on  the  table," 
Aunt  Deborah  began.  "They  make  it  easy  for  me 
to  get  started.  They  take  me  back  fifty  years  ago 
to  the  day  before  I  was  married  back  in  Iowa. 
Robert  came  up  that  evening,  and  saw  me  with  a 
brown  dress  on  and  marigolds  at  my  waist.  'Wear 
them  to-morrow,  Deborah,'  says  he.  They're  so 
bright  and  sunny  and  a  good  omen.  You  see,  we're 
going  to  need  sunshine  on  our  wedding  journey.' 
So  the  next  day,  when  I  was  married,  I  wore  some 
marigolds  against  my  white  dress.  Some  folks 
thought  'twas  an  awful  queer  thing  to  do.  They 
said  roses  would  have  been  much  more  weddingy, 
but  Robert  and  I  knew — and  it  didn't  matter  about 
ether  folks. 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    117 

"The  very  next  day  we  started  for  our  new  home 
across  the  plains.  That  was  to  be  our  wedding  jour- 
ney. 'Twas  in  July,  1864.  We  went  to  Council 
Bluffs  to  meet  the  others  of  our  train.  That  was 
just  a  small  town  then.  In  about  three  days  they'd 
all  collected  together,  ready  to  start.  We  didn't 
have  so  large  a  party  as  some.  There  were  about 
seventy-five  wagons  in  all,  and  two  hundred  per- 
sons, counting  the  children. 

"I'll  never  forget  how  I  felt  when  I  saw  the  last 
house  go  out  of  sight.  I  was  sitting  in  the  back 
of  our  wagon — we  were  near  the  end  of  the  train 
that  day — and  Robert  was  ahead  driving  the  oxen. 
But  I  guess  he  knew  how  I  was  feeling,  for  he  came 
back  and  comforted  me.  There  was  comfort,  too, 
in  the  way  other  folks  besides  me  were  feeling. 
There  wasn't  many  dry  eyes  on  the  day  we  swung 
into  the  plains,  and  yet  we  wouldn't  have  turned 
back — no,  not  for  worlds!" 

Aunt  Deborah  paused  now  and  then  for  the 
eager  questions  which  her  interested  listeners 
asked.  Yes,  she  told  them,  the  wagons  were 
great,  white-covered  prairie  schooners — real  houses 


118     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

on  wheels.  Yes,  the  oxen  were  powerfully 
slow,  but  good,  kind  beasts.  No,  they  were  not 
all.  There  were  mules  in  the  train  and  a  few 
horses.  Most  of  those  were  ridden  by  scouts — 
men  who  received  their  food  and  bed  for  giving 
protection  against  the  Indians.  Yes,  there  were 
small  children  and  tiny  babies — whole  families  seek- 
ing new  homes  in  this  great  land.  Two  babies  were 
born  on  the  journey.  One  lived  to  reach  Montana 
and  to  grow  into  a  strong,  stout  man;  the  other,  a 
little  girl,  died  on  the  way,  and  was  buried  some- 
where in  Nebraska. 

"Yes,  there  were  many  hard  things  like  that,"  she 
said,  "but  we  expected  sadness  and  trouble  and  sor- 
row when  we  started  out.  We  were  not  the  first 
who  had  crossed  the  plains.  There  were  pleasures, 
too.  Nights  when  we  stopped  to  camp  there  was  a 
whole  village  of  us.  The  men  placed  the  wagons  in 
a  great  circle,  and  within  the  circle  was  our  fire 
and  supper.  We  forgot  to  be  lonely  when  the  stars 
came  out  and  looked  down  upon  us — the  only  hu- 
man things  for  miles  around.  We  told  stories  and 
visited  one  another's  wagons,  and  were  thankful  to 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    119 

be  together.  Friends  were  made  then — real  friends 
that  always  stuck!" 

"Indians?"  she  asked  in  response  to  Jack's  inter- 
ested questions.  "Oh,  yes,  we  found  plenty  of  those 
to  our  sorrow!  The  first  real  hostile  ones  we  met 
in  Nebraska,  six  weeks  after  we  started.  Two  days 
before  they  came  I'd  somehow  felt  as  though  we 
were  having  too  smootfi  sailing  for  pioneers.  One 
morning  four  of  our  men  took  horses  and  rode  out 
searching  for  water.  We  never  saw  three  of  them 
again.  At  noon  the  only  one  left  came  riding  up, 
half-dead  from  exhaustion  and  from  wounds  which 
the  Indians  had  given  him.  He  gave  the  alarm  and 
soon  we  were  ready  for  them,  our  wagons  in  a  cir- 
cle, and  every  man  armed.  Some  women,  too." 
Aunt  Deborah's  head  rose  proudly.  "I  shot  my  first 
shot  that  day,  and  I  killed  an  Indian.  Robert  was 
proud  of  me  that  night !" 

So  the  journey  went  on,  she  told  them.  The  long, 
hot  days  of  midsummer  on  the  plains  shortened  into 
the  cooler  ones  of  September  and  October.  All  were 
wearying,  of  course,  but  few  actually  dangerous. 
The  attacks  from  Indians  were  rare.  They  seemed 


120     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

to  have  learned  that  more  could  be  gained  by  friendly 
bartering.  By  October  the  train  had  left  the  plains 
and  was  going  higher  into  the  mountains.  The  air 
grew  more  exhilarating.  There  was  less  sickness 
in  the  village  on  wheels.  One  October  morning  they 
found  a  light  covering  of  snow. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  that  snow  made  me  feel," 
said  Aunt  Deborah.  "It  made  me  afraid  somehow. 
I  thought  of  the  days  I  must  stay  alone  that  com- 
ing winter  while  Robert  was  away.  But  my  fears 
went  later  in  the  day  when  the  sun  once  more  made 
the  land  like  summer. 

"It  was  early  November  when  we  reached  our 
journey's  end  in  a  Montana  valley.  A  few  sod  huts 
were  there  to  welcome  us,  and  the  day  after  our 
arrival  other  pioneers  drifted  in  from  the  south. 
The  spot  was  chosen  because  it  was  near  water,  and 
because  there  seemed  to  be  plenty  of  wild  game. 
Some  of  our  train  pushed  on  to  the  gold  mines,  an- 
other day's  journey  and  more,  but  it  was  the  gravel 
beds  of  the  creek  where  we  were  promised  gold,  and 
we  decided  to  stay  in  the  valley. 

"We  built  a  sod  hut  like  those  around  us,  and 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    121 

began  to  get  settled.  Our  poor  cows  and  horses 
were  glad  enough  to  rest  and  crop  the  grass  in  among 
the  sagebrush.  It  was  a  forlorn-looking  village 
enough  when  all  our  huts  were  done.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  it!  There  we  spent  our  first  win- 
ter— the  happiest  one  of  my  whole  life.  Yes,  my 
dears,"  she  said,  looking  into  their  doubtful,  sur- 
prised faces,  "it  was  the  happiest.  There  were  dan- 
gers, of  course,  and  all  kinds  of  hardships,  but  those 
made  no  difference.  Of  course  there  were  lonely 
days  when  I  longed  for  home.  When  Robert  was 
there,  I  didn't  mind  the  smoky,  crowded  hut,  but 
on  the  days  when  he  had  to  be  away  I  felt  as  though 
I  couldn't  stand  it  much  longer.  We  lived  on  meat 
and  milk  that  winter.  The  flour  gave  out  and  there 
was  no  way  to  get  more,  so  we  had  no  bread.  All 
the  provisions  had  been  used  before  February  came, 
and  we  could  get  no  more  before  spring.  Buffalo 
meat  and  elk,  we  ate  mostly.  Yes,  Virginia,  what 
is  it?" 

"The  story,  Aunt  Deborah,  about  the  Indian  com- 
ing into  the  hut  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Aunt  Deborah,  "Virginia  always 


122     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

must  have  that.  It  happened  on  one  day  that  Rob- 
ert was  away.  He  had  ridden  to  the  mining  camp 
to  try  to  get  flour.  I  was  all  alone  in  the  hut.  There 
had  been  no  news  of  Indians  around,  so  imagine 
my  surprise  when  the  door  was  pushed  open  and 
an  Indian  walked  in.  I  knew  by  his  signs  that  he 
wanted  food,  so  I  gave  him  all  I  had.  He  drank 
all  the  milk  in  the  hut,  and  some  oat  cakes  which 
I  had  made  from  our  last  bit  of  oat-meal.  I  re- 
member how  angry  I  was,  for  I  had  been  saving 
them  especially  for  Robert,  but  I  dared  not  refuse. 
Then  he  began  admiring  a  rug  which  we  had  brought 
from  home.  It  was  on  the  bed  in  the  corner.  He 
asked  me  for  it,  and  I  refused.  Then  he  insisted, 
and  I  still  refused.  But  he  wanted  that  rug,  and 
was  going  to  have  it.  At  last  he  just  grabbed  it, 
and  made  for  the  door.  That  was  too  much  for 
me.  My  grandmother  had  given  Robert  and  me 
that  rug  for  a  wedding  gift,  and  no  Indian  was  go- 
ing to  take  it  away.  I  snatched  Robert's  gun  from 
the  corner  and  raised  it. 

"  'Drop  it,  or  I  shoot  you !'  I  screamed. 

"I  guess  he  knew  I  meant  what  I  said,  for  he 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    123 

dropped  the  rug  and  hurried  out  of  the  cabin.  I 
don't  know  how  long  I  sat  there  facing  the  door. 
I  was  afraid  he  would  bring  others  back,  but  he 
never  came  again.  When  Robert  came  that  night, 
I  was  still  facing  the  door  with  the  gun.  When  I 
saw  him,  I  burst  out  crying,  and  cried  and  cried. 
The  strain  had  been  too  much  for  me." 

So  Aunt  Deborah's  stories  went  on — of  the  vil- 
lage attacked  by  night,  and  her  fearful  ride  to 
the  little  fort  for  protection;  of  the  Vigilantes  and 
their  determined  hunting-down  of  robbers  and  road- 
agents;  of  a  sickness  which  broke  out  in  the  town 
toward  spring;  of  hunger  and  privations — the  va- 
ried, fascinating,  almost  incredible  tales  of  pioneer 
life.  Then,  like  oases,  would  come  stories  of  Christ- 
mas festivities,  and  of  merry,  laughing  times  all 
together.  The  minutes,  half -hours,  and  hours  flew 
by  as  they  listened. 

"My  Thought  Book  will  never  hold  them  all," 
Priscilla  whispered  to  Virginia. 

"But  in  the  spring,"  Aunt  Deborah  finished,  cast- 
ing an  anxious  glance  at  the  sun,  "all  was  different. 
A  trail  to  Salt  Lake  had  been  opened  and  provi- 


124     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

sions  came  through  by  stage.  I'll  never  forget  the 
morning  the  first  stage  train  came.  Men  had  use 
for  their  money  then,  though  many  of  them  used 
gold  weighed  out  in  little  scales.  Flour  was  a  dol- 
lar and  a  half  a  pound,  calico  fifty  cents  a  yard, 
and  eggs  five  dollars  a  dozen.  Shoes  were  price- 
less. One  man  bought  a  pair  for  thirty  dollars.  I 
remember  that  Robert  and  I  wanted  to  give  our 
neighbor's  little  girl  a  birthday  present.  After 
much  thought  we  decided  on  an  apple,  and  paid  a 
dollar  for  it." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  did  it,"  said  Vivian,  who 
had  not  spoken  a  word  since  Aunt  Deborah  began. 
"I  don't  believe  girls  of  to-day  could  live  through 
such  terrible  things!" 

"Yes,  they  could,  dear,"  affirmed  Aunt  Deborah, 
"only  the  need  hasn't  come.  When  it  does,  you'll 
all  be  ready.  Of  course,  the  Pioneer  Days  are  over, 
but  there  is  always  need  of  pioneers — for  Vigilantes, 
like  yourselves." 

A  half  hour  later  and  Aunt  Deborah  was  again 
in  the  wagon  beside  Alec — again  very  straight  and 
very  stiff.  She  had  had  a  beautiful  day,  she  said, 


Aunt  Deborah  Hunter— Pioneer    125 

smiling  upon  them  all.  She  had  gathered  thoughts 
and  memories  enough  for  another  year. 

William  came  up  to  the  carriage  just  as  Alec 
lifted  the  reins.  His  hands  were  filled  with  mari- 
golds— brown  and  orange  and  yellow. 

"I  thought  you  might  like  'em,  ma'am,"  he  said 
shyly. 

A  light  came  into  Aunt  Deborah's  gray  eyes. 

"Like  them,  William!"  she  cried.  "Like  them! 
They'll  give  me  even  more  memories — the  very 
sweetest  of  my  life." 


CHAPTER  IX 

MR.   CRUSOE  OF  CRIPPLE  CREEK 

MR.  CRUSOE  was  washing  an  extra  shirt  in  the 
ford  between  Elk  Creek  Valley  and  the  Gap.  The 
absence  of  soap  was  a  distinct  disadvantage,  but 
water,  a  corrugated  stone,  and  Mr.  Crusoe's  dili- 
gence were  working  wonders.  A  short  distance 
away  among  the  quaking-asps  smoldered  the  em- 
bers of  a  small  fire;  a  blackened  and  empty  bean- 
can  on  the  hearth-stone,  together  with  a  two-tined 
fork,  bore  evidence  of  a  recent  breakfast. 

His  washing  completed,  Mr.  Crusoe  turned  his 
attention  to  his  personal  appearance.  Deep  in  the 
waters  of  Elk  Creek  he  plunged  his  arms,  bare  to 
the  elbow,  and  washed  his  neck  and  face.  From  one 
pocket  he  drew  a  soiled  and  folded  towel,  which 
upon  being  unrolled  disclosed  a  diminutive  brush 
and  an  almost  toothless  comb.  With  these  he  pro- 
ceeded to  arrange  his  somewhat  long  and  dripping 

126 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      127 

black  hair.  His  two  weeks'  old  whiskers  apparently 
worried  him,  for  he  pulled  them  meditatively;  but 
since  he  was  far  from  a  barber  and  carried  no  shav- 
ing appliances,  the  brush  and  comb  must  suffice  for 
them  also.  Finally  he  took  his  battered  old  hat  from 
a  nearby  branch,  brushed  it  carefully,  arranged  the 
crown  so  that  fewer  holes  appeared,  and  put  it 
upon  his  head.  His  clean  shirt,  spread  upon  a  quak- 
ing-asp but  by  no  means  dry,  afforded  the  best  of 
reasons  why  he  should  not  hurry;  so,  drawing  a 
stained  and  stubby  pipe  and  sack  of  tobacco  from 
another  pocket,  Mr.  Crusoe  lay  beneath  a  friendly 
cotton  wood  at  the  water's  edge  and  gave  himself 
to  quiet  contemplation. 

The  morning  was  perfect,  and  no  one  could  ap- 
preciate it  more  keenly  than  Mr.  Crusoe,  wanderer 
that  he  was.  He  blew  a  great  mouthful  of  blue 
smoke  into  the  still  air,  watched  it  circle  lazily 
upward,  and  blew  another  to  hasten  the  progress 
of  the  first.  His  black  eyes,  peering  from  a  forest 
of  eyebrows  and  whiskers,  looked  long  upon  the 
blossoms  that  clothed  Elk  Creek  Valley — sunflowers, 
early  golden-rod  and  purple  thistles — swept  the 


128     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

friendly,  tumbling  foot-hills  and  sought  beneath  the 
over-hanging  trees  for  the  secrets  of  the  creek.  It 
was  a  morning  to  love  things,  Mr.  Crusoe  thought 
to  himself.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  left  his  com- 
rades of  the  railroad  tracks;  more  glad  that  he 
had  abandoned  freight-jumping  for  a  season;  most 
glad  that  he  had  decided  to  work  during  the  early 
fall  months.  Then  with  money  in  his  pockets  and 
a  new  suit  of  clothes  upon  his  back,  he  might  go 
back  to  Cripple  Creek  whence  he  had  come. 

A  few  minutes  later  his  contemplations  were 
broken  by  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  coming  through 
the  Gap.  He  sat  up,  interested,  and  removed  his 
pipe.  In  another  moment  as  he  met  the  wide-open 
eyes  of  two  very  much  startled  young  ladies,  his  hat 
followed.  Mr.  Crusoe  was  used  to  speaking  to  per- 
sons whom  he  met  in  his  journey  ings.  It  was  one 
of  the  many  joys  of  the  road. 

"Good-mornin',  comrades,"  said  he. 

The  hearts  of  Mary  and  Vivian  leaped  into  their 
throats.  Their  eyes,  leaving  Mr.  Crusoe's,  saw  in 
one  terrifying  instant  the  shirt  drying  on  the  quak- 
ing-asp, the  smoldering  fire,  the  empty  bean-can. 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      129 

This  man  was  a  tramp!  He  belonged  to  that  dis- 
gusting clan  of  vagabonds  who  asked  for  food  at 
back-doors,  and  whom  one,  if  frightened  into  doing 
it,  fed  on  back  stoops  as  one  fed  the  cat!  He,  like 
his  fellows,  would  inspire  one  to  lock  all  the  doors 
at  noonday,  and  to  tell  one's  neighbors  there  was 
a  tramp  abroad ! 

"Good-mornin',"  said  Mr.  Crusoe  again.  "It's 
a  fine  day." 

This  time  Mary  answered.  She  did  not  dare  keep 
silent.  The  tramp  might  become  angry. 

"Good-morning,"  she  faltered. 

Vivian  said  nothing.  She  was  waiting  for  Mary 
to.  plan  a  means  of  escape.  Meanwhile  Siwash  and 
his  companion,  feeling  their  reins  tighten,  had 
stopped  and  were  nibbling  at  the  quaking-asps,  quite 
undisturbed. 

Mr.  Crusoe  rose,  hat  in  hand. 

"Was  you  plannin'  to  ford,  young  ladies?"  he 
asked  politely. 

The  vanishing  flanks  of  two  horses,  unceremoni- 
ously yanked  away  from  their  luncheon  and  turned 
toward  the  prairie,  were  his  only  answer.  Mr. 


130     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

Crusoe  gazed  wonderingly  into  a  cloud  of  dust. 
Then  he  felt  of  his  washing  on  the  quaking-asp. 
It  was  dry  enough.  Laying  his  pipe  and  hat 
on  the  ground,  he  proceeded  to  get  into  the  clean 
shirt. 

"Poor  little  things!"  he  said  from  its  somewhat 
damp  depths.  "They  was  plum  scared  of  me !" 

The  shirt  on,  he  did  its  mate  into  a  bundle,  cut 
a  forked  stick  upon  which  to  sling  it,  stamped  out 
the  last  ember  of  his  dying  fire,  took  his  hat  and 
pipe,  and  started  north  up  the  creek  trail. 

Vivian  and  Mary  did  not  stop  their  wild  gallop 
until  they  were  well  in  sight  of  the  nearest  house 
on  the  prairie.  Blue  gentians  for  Miss  Wallace, 
which  had  been  their  errand,  were  quite  forgotten. 
So,  also  was  the  glory  of  the  morning.  Instead, 
there  ever  rose  before  their  still  startled  eyes  a 
black-whiskered,  coatless  man,  smoking  the  stub 
of  a  dirty  pipe  beneath  a  cottonwood. 

"Mary,"  said  Vivian,  gathering  courage  as  the 
Keith  house  came  into  view,  and  breaking  a  long, 
frightened  silence,  "Mary,  did  you  ever  see  any 
one  so  villainous-looking  in  your  life — outside  of  the 


MR.    CRUSOE    GAZED    WONDERINGLY 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      131 

movies,  I  mean?  I  guess  my  heart  will  never  stop 
thumping !  I  wish  Virginia  had  been  with  us !  She's 
always  saying  there's  no  one  around  here  to  harm 
any -one.  I  just  wish  she  had!" 

"I  sort  of  wish  we  hadn't  run  so,"  returned  Mary, 
pulling  her  horse  down  to  a  walk.  "Maybe  he  wasn't 
any  one  harmful  at  all,  only  he  scared  me  so  I  never 
stopped  to  think.  I'd  hate  to  be  a  snob,  even  to 
a  tramp !" 

"I  wouldn't!  I  glory  in  it!  And,  besides,  you 
needn't  worry.  It  takes  time  to  be  a  snob,  and  we 
didn't  waste  a  moment.  Here's  the  Keith  house. 
Hadn't  we  best  go  in  for  a  moment  ?  There's  Car- 
ver now  playing  with  Kenneth." 

The  Keiths,  upon  hearing  the  story,  quieted 
Vivian's  fears,  and  confirmed  Mary's  increasing  re- 
gret. The  man  was  only  a  hobo,  Donald  said,  doubt- 
less seeking  work.  They  looked  unmistakably 
rough,  but  were  often  good  fellows  inside. 
Probably  he  wouldn't  have  frightened  them  for  the 
world. 

"I  wish  this  fellow  would  stray  our  way,"  he 
added.  "We're  going  to  be  in  need  of  extra  hands 


132     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

when  threshing  comes,  and  it  won't  be  long  now. 
Dad  would  welcome  him  all  right." 

Vivian  stared  at  Donald,  incredulous  and  speech- 
less. There  was  no  need  of  asking  him  if  he  meant 
what  he  had  just  said.  Apparently  that  horrible 
creature  back  there  by  the  creek,  the  very  remem- 
brance of  whom  caused  cold  shivers  to  run  over 
Vivian,  would  be  given  a  welcome  by  the  Keith  fam- 
ily. Vivian's  nose,  already  a  trifle  high,  rose  higher. 
Democracy  was  unquestionably  a  splendid  attribute. 
Since  knowing  Virginia  and  coming  West,  she  was 
more  inclined  to  believe  in  it  than  ever.  But  this 
was  too  muchf 

An  hour  later  they  were  riding  homeward,  their 
hands  filled  with  gentians.  Donald  and  Jack  had 
ridden  back  with  them  to  the  ford  to  act  as  pro- 
tectors, and,  Vivian  secretly  believed,  to  interview 
the  hobo,  were  he  still  there,  upon  the  subject  of 
threshing.  But  only  an  empty  bean-can  and  the 
charred  remnants  of  a  fire  bore  evidence  of  the 
wayfarer.  He  had  gone !  Reassured,  they  had  gath- 
ered gentians  to  their  hearts'  content,  left  the  boys 
upon  the  prairie,  and  ridden  homeward. 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      133 

Mr.  Hunter  came  to  meet  them  as  they  rode  be- 
neath the  cottonwoods. 

"Crusoe,"  he  called  to  some  one  on  the  other  side 
of  the  porch,  "here's  your  first  job!  Take  these 
horses  to  the  corral." 

An  attempt  to  describe  the  sensations  which  swept 
over  Mary  and  Vivian  when  they  recognized  their 
acquaintance  of  the  morning  would  be  impossible. 
Unable  for  a  moment  to  dismount,  they  sat  in  their 
saddles  and  stared.  Mr.  Crusoe,  undoubtedly  sensi- 
ble of  their  surprise,  patted  Si  wash,  who  responded 
gladly  in  spite  of  black  whiskers  and  a  battered 
hat.  Mr.  Hunter,  thinking  that  the  flowers  might 
be  the  reason  of  their  delay,  relieved  them  of  the 
gentians.  Mary  and  Vivian,  thus  assisted,  finally 
fell  from  the  saddles,  and  followed  Mr.  Hunter  to 
the  porch. 

"Mr.  Hunter,"  gasped  Vivian  when  the  new  man 
had  taken  the  horses,  "do  you  know  who  he  is? 
He's  a  hobo!  Donald  said  so!  We  met  him  this 
morning  down  at  the  ford — Mary  and  I.  He  scared 
us  almost  to  death!  He  had  washed  a  shirt  and 
it  was  drying  on  the  bushes,  and  he  ate  canned 


134     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

beans  for  breakfast  right  out  of  the  can  wkh  a 
dirty,  bent,  old  fork.  He  was  lying  under  a  tree 
and  smoking  a  hideous  pipe  as  we  rode  up!  I 
never  was  so  horrified  in  all  my  life!  And,  Mr. 
Hunter,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  spoke  to  us!  I 
thought  we'd  die !  Siwash  would  eat  the  bushes,  and 
I  thought  we'd  never  escape!  He's  not  going  to 
stay  here  after  he  has  something  to  eat,  is  he, 
Mr.  Hunter?  You  don't  know  how  awful  he 
is!" 

Vivian  stopped — merely  for  breath.  Mr.  Hunter 
with  a  mighty  effort  repressed  a  smile.  Mary  was 
torn  between  a  desire  to  play  fair  and  the  awful 
remembrance  of  her  fright.  She  said  nothing. 

"Vivian,"  said  Mr.  Hunter,  "out  here  we've 
learned  not  to  judge  persons  by  whether  or  not  they 
wash  in  the  creek  and  eat  canned  beans.  I'm  sorry 
Crusoe  frightened  you.  He  isn't  exactly  captivating 
in  appearance,  I'll  admit,  but,  from  what  I  can 
gather,  he  seems  to  be  a  pretty  good  sort.  Any 
man's  worth  a  try-out,  you  know.  He's  looking 
for  work,  and  now  that  threshing  is  coming  on 
I'm  looking  for  an  extra  man,  so  he's  going  to  stay 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      185 

here  a  spell.  These  fellows  who  take  to  the  road, 
you  see,  fill  a  great  need  out  here  in  this  country. 
We  depend  on  one  or  more  of  them  showing  up 
about  this  time  of  year." 

Vivian  was  still  staring,  unable  to  speak.  Mary, 
desirous  that  Mr.  Crusoe  should  not  misunderstand 
their  flight,  explained  the  affair  to  Mr.  Hunter,  a 
little  more  rationally  than  Vivian  had  done. 

"You  see,"  she  finished,  "it's  just  that  we  aren't 
used  to  seeing  persons  like  that,  and  he  did  look 
fierce,  Mr.  Hunter.  I  wish  you'd  explain  to  him 
how  it  was.  I  shouldn't  want  to  be  rude  even  to 
a  hobo." 

Mr.  Hunter  smiled. 

"He'll  understand,  Mary,"  he  said.  "In  fact,  he 
does  already,  for  when  he  saw  you  riding  home 
he  told  me  about  how  frightened  you  were  at  the 
ford.  Don't  be  at  all  alarmed,  Vivian,"  he  called, 
for  Vivian  was  hurrying  into  the  house,  her  head 
high.  "He's  a  gentleman — underneath  the  whiskers 
and  the  shirt." 

So  Mr.  Crusoe  stayed  on  at  the  Hunter  ranch. 
The  men  liked  him — that  was  plain  to  be  seen. 


136     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

Every  evening  their  laughter  echoed  from  the  bunk- 
house  where  Mr.  Crusoe  was  entertaining  them  with 
his  songs  and  stories.  Even  the  silent  William  was 
loud  in  his  praise,  and  Mr.  Weeks,  the  foreman,  in 
speaking  of  his  ability  and  readiness  to  work,  sug- 
gested a  permanent  position.  Mary  allowed  but  a 
day  to  go  by  before  apologizing  for  her  flight  from 
the  ford,  and  after  Mr.  Crusoe's  courteous  accept- 
ance became  his  firm  adherent,  much  to  Vivian's 
disgust.  Even  Aunt  Nan  found  him  interesting, 
while  Virginia  and  Priscilla  listened  eagerly  to  his 
tales  of  Cripple  Creek.  They  were  collecting  theme 
material,  they  told  the  disdainful  Vivian. 

Apparently  Mr.  Crusoe  had  stormed  and  taken 
the  Hunter  ranch.  Only  one  member  of  the  family 
remained  his  enemy.  Vivian  was  still  unconvinced. 
To  her  every  one  else  on  the  ranch  had  taken  his 
place  among  the  number  of  those  condemned  by 
the  apostle,  "who,  having  eyes,  see  not."  In  her 
suspicious  eyes  Mr.  Crusoe  was  a  "ravening  wolf" 
of  whom  she  should  beware.  When  she  had  an 
infrequent  occasion  to  address  him  she  used  an  of- 
fended dignity,  tinged  with  scorn;  when  his  name 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      137 

was  brought  into  the  conversation  she  remained 
silent,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  some  day  they 
would  all  see  this  tramp  in  his  true  light ! 

In  three  days  Vivian  had  worked  herself  into 
a  state  from  the  eminence  of  which  she  looked  down 
with  protecting  pity  upon  Aunt  Nan,  the  other  Vigi- 
lantes, and  Mr.  Hunter.  They  were  being  hood- 
winked, and  she  alone  was  left  to  guard  their  in- 
terests. Harrowing  memories  of  tales  she  had  read, 
terrifying  visions  of  escaped  criminals  whom  she 
had  witnessed  in  the  "movies,"  and  who  exactly 
resembled  Mr.  Crusoe,  came  to  disturb  her  rest  and 
haunt  her  dreams.  She  was  a  quaking  detective, 
watching  Mr.  Crusoe's  every  act,  and  discovering 
treachery  and  evil  design  in  the  most  innocent  of 
them. 

On  the  fourth  day  following  Mr.  Crusoe's  ad- 
vent matters  approached  a  climax.  In  the  early 
afternoon  Mr.  Hunter,  driving  to  town  on  business, 
had  taken  the  other  Vigilantes  with  him.  Vivian, 
with  letters  to  write,  had  remained  at  home,  feel- 
ing safe  with  Aunt  Nan.  In  her  stimulated  imagi- 
nation Mr.  Crusoe  had  been  behaving  peculiarly  all 


138     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  morning,  and  not  for  worlds  would  she  have 
stayed  alone. 

Hannah  left  soon  after  the  others,  going  for  rasp- 
berries up  the  canyon;  Aunt  Nan,  thoughtful  and 
strangely  silent,  was  in  the  living-room,  where 
within  an  hour  she  was  joined  by  Malcolm  Keith; 
Vivian  sat  beneath  the  vines  in  the  corner  of  the 
porch,  and  tried  to  center  her  attention  upon  a  let- 
ter she  was  writing  to  Dorothy.  She  was  not  emi- 
nently successful.  Grave  apprehensions,  strange 
forebodings,  filled  her  heart.  Once  Mr.  Crusoe 
passed  empty-handed  before  the  porch.  He  did  not 
see  Vivian,  although  he  might  easily  have  detected 
the  beating  of  her  heart.  She  watched  him  pause, 
study  for  a  brief  moment  the  house,  its  doors  and 
windows,  and  then  pass  on.  He  was  seizing  the 
opportunity  while  they  were  all  away,  Vivian  told 
herself,  to  become  better  acquainted  with  his  sur- 
roundings. Then  some  day,  not  far  distant,  or 
some  night,  he ! 

She  jumped  from  her  seat  and  ran  indoors.  At 
that  moment  she  wanted  company  more  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world.  Sunny  as  it  was  out- 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      139 

side,  the  silence  worried  her.  There  was  something 
portentous  even  in  the  singing  of  the  August  in- 
sects. Aunt  Nan's  genuine  interest  in  Mr.  Crusoe 
and  his  welfare  would  probably  prevent  Vivian  from 
giving  expression  to  her  new-born  fears;  but  at 
least  nearness  to  some  one  might  quiet  the  misgiv- 
ings which  were  tormenting  her. 

She  reached  the  living-room  door,  and  stood  still, 
unable  to  make  her  presence  known,  and,  for  a 
moment,  unable  to  run  away.  Aunt  Nan  and 
Malcolm  Keith  were  standing  by  the  big  western 
window  which  faced  the  prairie  and  the  distant 
mountains.  Malcolm's  arm  was  around  Aunt  Nan, 
and  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder.  As  Vivian  stood 
transfixed  to  the  spot  by  a  strange  Something, 
Malcolm  bent  his  head,  and — Vivian  fled,  unper- 
ceived ! 

That  same  strange  Something,  stronger  than  her 
fear  of  the  silence  or  even  of  Mr.  Crusoe,  was 
making  her  breath  come  in  gasps  as  she  sank  into 
her  chair  and  tried  to  collect  her  scattered  senses. 
Truly  Life  was  being  too  generous  to  her  that  day ! 
So  Malcolm  and  Aunt  Nan  loved  each  other !  That 


140     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

was  clearly  unmistakable.  She  was  sorry  she  had 
intruded,  though  she  knew  they  had  not  heard  her. 
In  that  last  moment  before  she  had  found  strength 
to  run  away  she  felt  as  though  she  had  come  un- 
bidden into  a  sacred  place.  Her  cheeks  burned  at 
the  thought.  How  surprised  the  girls  would  be 
when  she  told  them!  No,  she  would  not  tell!  It 
was  Aunt  Nan's  secret — hers  and  Malcolm's ! 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  still  unperceived  and  to 
all  appearances  quite  forgotten,  she  sat  in  her  chair 
and  watched  Aunt  Nan  and  Malcolm  go  down  the  lane 
beneath  the  cottonwoods,  and  on  toward  the  foot- 
hills. They  had  forgotten  her  very  existence.  She 
was  all  alone — alone  with  Mr.  Crusoe  and  the  si- 
lence. At  that  very  instant  Mr.  Crusoe  again  passed 
before  the  porch — again  paused  to  study  the  house. 
This  time  he  held  a  key  in  his  hand — a  large  key  on 
a  string  which  he  twisted  and  untwisted  as  it  swung 
from  his  big,  brown  finger.  Vivian  knew  that  key. 
It  belonged  to  the  root-cellar  just  beyond  the  kitchen, 
and  it  hung  in  Mr.  Hunter's  office  above  his  desk. 
She  had  seen  Hannah  take  it  a  dozen  times,  and 
once  Mr.  Hunter  had  given  it  to  Virginia,  asking 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      141 

her  to  get  some  papers  from  a  desk  he  kept  down 
there.  Why  should  Mr.  Crusoe  want  to  go  to  the 
root-cellar? 

Something  told  Vivian  that  the  time  for  her  to 
act  had  come;  that  only  she  could  save  the  Hunter 
fortunes  from  oncoming  disaster.  As  Mr.  Crusoe 
rounded  the  farther  corner  of  the  porch,  and  started 
in  the  direction  of  the  root-cellar,  Vivian  ran 
through  the  house  and  into  Hannah's  spotless 
kitchen.  A  new  sense  of  responsibility  gave  birth 
to  a  bran-new  sense  of  courage.  Vivian,  watching 
from  the  kitchen  window,  saw  Mr.  Crusoe  go  into 
the  cellar.  That  was  enough. 

Running  to  Virginia's  room,  she  grasped  the  lit- 
tle rifle  which  stood  in  the  corner.  It  was  the  only 
gun  in  the  house  which  Vivian  had  ever  used,  and 
her  one  experience  with  it  had  not  given  her  a  far- 
reaching  knowledge  of  fire-arms.  Still,  it  was  a 
gun,  and  guns  concealed  cowardice,  and  lent  power 
and  dignity  to  one's  bearing.  Vivian  knew  that  it 
was  loaded.  Virginia  always  kept  it  ready  in  case 
a  gopher  poked  his  inquisitive  little  nose  above  the 
ground.  She  knew,  too,  that  a  quick  push  of  her 


142     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

thumb  would  drive  back  the  safety  and  leave  the 
gun  ready  to  shoot. 

She  ran  down  the  hall  and  out  the  back  door  to- 
ward the  root  cellar.  Her  heart  was  in  her  mouth, 
her  breath  came  in  gasps,  her  wide-open  blue  eyes 
were  filled  with  terror.  When  she  reached  the  stone 
steps  leading  down  to  the  cellar  she  looked  far  less 
a  heroine  than  a  much  frightened  little  girl.  Still, 
there  was  the  gun!  Vivian's  nervous  fingers  kept 
pushing  the  safety  on  and  off — a  rather  terrifying 
sound  to  the  ears  of  a  much  surprised  man,  who,  pa- 
pers in  hand,  was  coming  up  the  steps. 

Vivian  saw  the  papers.  She  was  right !  Mr.  Cru- 
soe had  been  rifling  Mr.  Hunter's  private  posses- 
sions. She  raised  the  gun  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"Mr.  Crusoe,"  she  faltered,  "this  gun  is  loaded, 
and  if  you  try  to  pass  me,  I — I'm  very  sure  I  shall 
shoot  you.  You  sit  down  there  in  the  cellar  and 
wait  for  Mr.  Hunter." 

Mr.  Crusoe  sat  down.  He  was  too  surprised  to 
do  anything  else.  He  had  faced  guns  many  times 
before  in  his  varied  existence,  but  never  had  he  been 
confronted  by  a  shaking  .2.2.  in  the  trembling  hands 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      148 

of  a  very  nervous  young  lady.  Moreover,  the  sound 
of  a  safety  clicking  nervously  back  and  forth  is  not 
conducive  to  peace.  Mr.  Crusoe  did  not  expect 
Vivian  to  shoot  him,  but  he  did  entertain  a  fear 
that  the  gun  might  go  off  in  his  direction  and  in 
spite  of  her.  Considering  silence  the  better  part  of 
valor,  he  accordingly  sought  the  farthest  corner  of 
the  cellar  and  hoped  for  the  best. 

Vivian  sat  upon  the  top  step,  the  gun  upon  her 
knees.  She  had  not  looked  for  such  non-resistance 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Crusoe.  Indeed,  he  looked  less 
fierce  than  she  had  ever  seen  him.  Could  she  have 
observed  the  amused  smile  which  was  quivering  be- 
neath Mr.  Crusoe's  black  whiskers  as  he  began  more 
fully  to  understand  this  peculiar  situation,  she  would 
have  been  much  puzzled.  To. her,  he  was  a  cring- 
ing suppliant,  and  she  a  distinct  conqueror. 

Still  the  minutes  dragged  themselves  very  slowly 
away.  It  seemed  two  hours,  though  it  was  in  re- 
ality but  ten  minutes  before  conqueror  and  con- 
quered heard  the  roll  of  returning  wheels,  the  sound 
of  voices  calling  for  Vivian,  the  approach  of  hur- 
rying footsteps.  Mr.  Crusoe  stirred  uneasily.  He 


144     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

would  have  willingly  saved  Vivian  from  the  embar- 
rassment which  he  knew  was  bound  to  follow,  but 
it  had  been  impossible.  Vivian's  heart  beat  wildly. 
Now,  at  least,  they  would  understand  that  she  had 
been  right  all  along;  now,  perhaps,  they  would  no 
longer  think  her  such  a  coward! 

Embarrassment  did  follow !  Embarrassment  and 
tears  and  explanations  and  not  a  little  ill-concealed 
amusement.  For  one  long  hour  Vivian,  in  spite 
of  sympathy  and  understanding  and  genuine  admi- 
ration, wished  she  had  never  been  born.  In  that 
hour  she  discovered  that  a  finer  courage  is  neces- 
sary to  admit  a  mistake  and  to  begin  anew  than  to 
besiege  a  hobo  in  a  root-cellar.  But  she  proved 
equal  to  the  task,  and  Mr.  Crusoe  in  the  part  he 
played  showed  himself  the  gentleman  he  really  was. 
For  when  Vivian  was  convinced  that  Mr.  Crusoe  had 
been  given  the  key  by  Mr.  Hunter,  that  he  had 
been  told  to  fetch  the  papers,  and  that  he  really 
was  trustworthy  after  all,  she  dried  her  tears,  donned 
a  fresh  middy,  and  went  quite  alone  to  offer  her 
apologies. 

She  found  Mr.  Crusoe  by  the  bunk-house.     He 


Mr.  Crusoe  of  Cripple  Creek      145 

had  shaved  in  the  meantime,  and  when  Vivian  saw 
his  clean  firm  chin,  she  knew  it  was  partly  the  whis- 
kers which  had  made  her  level  the  gun  at  him. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Crusoe,"  she  stammered.  "You 
see,  I  thought  you  were  just  a  tramp,  and  at  home 
we  are  always  afraid  of  them.  But  I  know  now 
you  aren't.  I  know  I've  been  wrong  all  the  time, 
and — oh,  I'm  awfully  glad  the  gun  didn't  go  off!" 

Mr.  Crusoe  removed  his  battered  old  hat  and 
offered  his  freshly-washed  hand. 

"I'm  glad,  too,  Miss  Vivian,"  he  said.  "If  it 
had,  perhaps  I  couldn't  have  told  you  how  much 
pluck  I  think  you've  got  stored  away  inside  of  you. 
And  as  for  your  being  suspicious  of  the  likes  o' 
me,  I  don't  wonder  a  mite.  Only,  you  see,  there  are 
tramps  and  tramps.  To  the  best  of  us,  I  guess 
trampin'  just  means  followin'  roads  that  lead  to 
shelters — to  homes,  you  see!  And  now  you  know 
I'm  not  the  kind  you  thought  I  was,  this  here  ranch 
looks  like  a  mighty  good  home  to  me." 

"Then  you  won't  go  back  to  Cripple  Creek?" 
asked  Vivian.  "If  I  were  you  I'd  stay  right  here." 

"That's  what  I'm  plannin'  on,"  said  Mr.  Crusoe. 


CHAPTER  X 

rA  LETTER   FROM   DOROTHY 

"!T  seems  an  age,  doesn't  it,  since  we've  had  a 
real  meeting,"  said  the  founder  of  the  Vigilantes, 
"and  yet  it's  only  nine  weeks  ago  this  very  identi- 
cal day.  I  guess  it's  because  the  places  are  so  far 
apart  and  so  different.  The  last  time  'twas  on  the 
big  rock  back  of  the  Retreat,  and  now  it's  away 
out  here  in  the  Land  of  our  Dreams.  Oh,  you'll 
never,  never  know  what  it's  meaning  to  me  to  have 
you  all  out  here,  because  it's  one  of  the  things  you 
feel  inside  but  can  never,  never  tell!" 

"I  guess  we  know,"  cried  Priscilla,  "because  we're 
feeling  it,  too!  Every  day  I  think  I'll  die  if  I  get 
any  happier,  but  I  guess  happiness  is  one  of  the 
things  you  can  keep  pouring  into  your  heart  like 
love — without  its  overflowing." 

"It's  the  very  same  way  about  pouring  it  out,  too," 
said  Mary.  "There's  always  plenty  left  like  the 
oil  in  the  Bible  story." 

116 


A  Letter  from  Dorothy  147 

"Aren't  the  mountains  way  off  there  blue  ?"  cried 
Vivian.  "I  think  blue's  the  happiest  color  in  the 
world.  I'll  never  say  that  I  feel  blue  again  now 
that  I've  seen  the  mountains." 

They  had  climbed  to  the  summit  of  Spruce  Ridge 
for  their  Vigilante  meeting — the  first  formal  one 
they  had  held  since  their  arrival  in  Virginia's  coun- 
try. A  letter  from  Dorothy,  coming  an  hour  ago, 
bore  the  inscription,  "To  be  read  at  a  Vigilante 
meeting,"  and  in  order  to  be  honest  to  the  letter,  as 
well  as  in  spirit,  they  had  decided  upon  a  place  apart 
and  assembled. 

"After  all,  it's  better  to  come  away  like  this, 
isn't  it?"  asked  Virginia.  "There's  a  queer,  com- 
mon feeling  that  doesn't  come  when  we  just  sit  on 
the  porch  and  talk.  And  I  love  this  sweep  of  coun- 
try from  the  Ridge.  It's  real  Vigilante  land. 
Now  let's  have  the  letter,  Priscilla.  I'm  wild 
to  hear  it.  It's  the  very  first  we've  had  in  a 
month." 

The  secretary  of  the  order  broke  a  large  amount 
of  sealing-wax,  unfolded  sheets  of  blue  stationery, 
and  began: 


148     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"  'A  PIECE  OF  HEAVEN  IN  CALIFORNIA, 

"'Aug.  n,  19—. 
"  'DEAR  FELLOW  VIGILANTES  : 

"  'I've  been  trying  desperately  to  write  you  for 
weeks  and  weeks,  but  you've  no  idea  what  the 
cares  of  a  household  are,  especially  when  you  have 
a  child  around.' ' 

"A  child !"  cried  all  the  Vigilantes  at  once.    "What 
child?" 

Priscilla  continued : 

"  'But  before  I  tell  you  about  Virginia  Win- 
throp  Richards,  I  must  say  that  the  summer  is 
being  even  more  wonderful  than  Dad  and  I  ever 
dreamed.  I  never  got  so  well-acquainted  with  my 
own  father  in  all  my  life,  and  he's  been  a  per- 
fect darling  to  devote  days  and  days  to  me.  The 
bungalow  is  more  heavenly  than  ever.  It's  posi- 
tively buried  in  roses  and  heliotrope,  and  you'd 
never  know  it  had  a  chimney.  You'd  think  that 
a  huge  geranium  was  growing  right  out  of  the 
roof.  The  front  porch  looks  out  upon  the  sea. 
Oh,  it's  such  a  dark,  deep,  sparkly  blue!  And 


A  Letter  from  Dorothy  149 

when  the  sky  is  blue,  too,  and  the  sand  is  golden, 
and  the  white  gulls  skim  next  the  water — noth- 
ing could  be  more  beautiful  in  all  the  world!  I 
think  of  you  a  hundred  times  a  day,  and  wish 
that  you  were  here.  So  does  Dad.  I've  told  him 
all  about  the  Vigilantes,  and  he's  so  interested. 
He  says  he's  thankful  every  day  that  I  have  such 
fine  friends  at  St.  Helen's.  In  fact,  I  just  know 
he's  more  pleased  with  me  than  ever  before.  I 
think  he  sees  there's  hope  ahead,  and  it's  a  very 
comforting  assurance. 

"  'Now  I  must  tell  you  about  Virginia  Win- 
throp  Richards.  I  know  you're  consumed  with 
curiosity.  If  you  could  see  her,  you'd  be  con- 
sumed with  envy.  She  is  seven  years  old  and 
all  pink  and  white  and  blue  and  gold.  Her  cheeks 
are  just  the  color  of  wild  roses,  and  her  eyes 
deep  blue — almost  like  the  water — and  her  hair 
golden  brown  with  lights  in  it.  I  dress  her  in 
pink  or  blue  or  white  all  the  time.  One  day 
two  weeks  ago  Dad  and  I  went  to  Los  Angeles 
to  buy  clothes  for  her.  I  don't  believe  I  ever 
had  quite  such  a  good  time  in  all  my  life.  Twas 


150     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

just  like  shopping  for  one's  very  own  child.  I 
put  my  hair  up  high  for  the  occasion,  and  en- 
deavored to  look  matronly,  but  I  guess  I  failed, 
for  when  I  saw  a  ravishing  pink  dress  and  said, 
"I  guess  it's  too  small  for  my  little  girl,"  the 
stupid  clerk  laughed  in  my  face. 

"  'We  bought  the  sweetest  things  you  ever  saw ! 
Hair-ribbons  and  adorable  shoes  and  socks  striped 
like  sticks  of  candy  and  little  fairy  night-dresses 
all  trimmed  in  lace.  Then  Dad  bought  some 
toys.  I  let  him  do  that.  He  bought  a  doll  and 
books  and  a  cart  and  horses,  for  we  want  Vir- 
ginia to  be  a  trifle  boyish,  too,  you  see.  While 
he  was  doing  it,  his  eyes  just  beamed  and  beamed. 
He  said  he  felt  just  as  he  did  when  I  was  little 
and  he  bought  toys  for  me.  When  we  reached 
home  and  showed  the  things  to  Virginia  Win- 
throp  Richards,  I  thought  she'd  die  of  happiness. 
Really,  I  didn't  know  but  that  we'd  lose  her 
after  all ! 

'  'But  here  I  am  dressing  my  child  for  you,  and 
you  don't  even  know  who  she  is!  She  wasn't 
anybody  but  Minnie  and  No.  31  until  three  weeks 


151 


ago.  I've  always  thought  it  would  be  a  heavy 
cross  enough  to  be  named  Minnie  anyway,  even 
though  you  had  a  respectable  surname,  but  to  be 
Minnie  without  any  surname  at  all,  and  No.  31 
in  addition,  seem  to  me  the  depths  of  misery.  We 
found  her  in  the  Home  for  Friendless  Children, 
and  I'll  always  believe  that  an  angel  led  us  there! 
Dad  and  I  went  to  the  city  three  weeks  ago  this 
very  Sunday  and  walked  by  the  Home.  We  didn't 
even  know  'twas  there — just  stumbled  upon  it 
while  we  were  roaming  around  in  search  of  ad- 
venture. Poor  little  31  was  sitting  under  a  tree 
on  the  lawn  holding  a  shingle  and  singing  to  it. 
I'll  never  forget  how  she  looked.  Her  curls  were 
braided  up  tight,  and  tied  with  a  shoe-string,  and 
she  was  dressed  in  a  hideous  blue-checked  thing, 
but  even  those  drawbacks  couldn't  spoil  her.  Dad 
and  I  just  stopped  and  stared,  and  then  we  walked 
up  the  steps  and  in  at  the  door. 

"  '  "Whose  child  is  that  out  there  on  the  lawn?" 
Dad  asked  the  matron  who  greeted  us  at  the  office 
entrance. 

"  'She  was  a  tall,  stern-looking  person  in  a  shirt- 


152     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

waist  and  a  high,  starched  collar.  You  just 
couldn't  imagine  her  holding  a  baby,  or  one  cud- 
dling up  against  her  neck.  She  said  No.  ji  was 
nobody's  child.  She  had  been  left  in  an  old  basket 
on  the  steps  six  years  ago.  You  see,  she  isn't 
one  of  those  children  you  read  about  with  beau- 
tifully embroidered  clothes  and  gold  lockets  and 
one  thousand  dollars  in  bills  under  her  pillow. 
She  didn't  have  any  name  or  notes  or  requests  for 
whoever  took  her  to  call  at  the  bank  for  a  for- 
tune when  she  was  twenty-one.  She  was  just 
wrapped  in  an  old  blanket  and  left  there.  But 
Dad  and  I  don't  care! 

"  'When  the  matron  saw  that  we  were  inter- 
ested, she  asked  if  we  didn't  want  to  borrow 
No.  JJ  for  a  few  days.  She  said  they  sometimes 
lent  children  for  two  weeks  or  so.  When  she 
said  it,  she  sounded  just  as  though  a  child  were 
a  typewriter  or  a  vacuum  cleaner,  sent  on  ten  days' 
free  trial.  I  looked  at  Dad  and  Dad  looked  at 
me,  and  then  he  said,  "We'll  take  her!"  It  didn't 
take  long  for  the  matron  to  do  up  her  few  clothes 
and  to  get  her  ready.  She  was  so  glad  to  make 


A  Letter  from  Dorotify  153 

the  loan  that  she  hurried.  Little  No.  31  was  so 
surprised  that  she  didn't  know  whether  to  be  happy 
or  not.  Perhaps  she  didn't  understand  what  it 
was  to  be  really  happy,  but  she  knows  now! 
She's  positively  radiant ! 

"  'I  can't  explain  how  it  seemed  when  we 
brought  her  home.  Somehow  'twas  as  though 
we'd  just  begun  to  be  a  real  family.  She  snug- 
gled between  Dad  and  me  on  the  front  seat  of 
the  car,  and  kept  looking  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us.  I  think  it  was  her  name  that  first  gave  us 
the  idea  of  keeping  her.  We  couldn't  call  that 
adorable  child  No.  31,  and  we  wouldn't  call  her 
Minnie.  Of  course  we  couldn't  name  a  borrowed 
child,  and  so  after  I'd  given  her  a  bath,  and  we'd 
seen  how  truly  sweet  and  adorable  she  was,  we 
decided  that  at  all  events  she  should  never,  never 
go  back  to  that  Home,  which  is  a  satire  on  the 
word.  At  first  Dad  thought  he  knew  of  a  fine 
home  for  her  with  some  friends  of  his  who 
haven't  any  children,  but  after  the  ten  days'  free 
trial  were  over  we  knew  we  just  couldn't  give  her 
up.  Best  of  all,  Mrs.  Shute,  the  housekeeper, 


154     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

who's  been  with  us  all  summer,  loves  her  to 
death,  and  she's  promised  to  stay  right  on  with 
Dad,  and  keep  house  for  him  next  winter  in  Los 
Angeles.  So  you  see  Dad  has  a  home  and  an- 
other child,  and  he's  the  happiest  man  in  Cali- 
fornia. 

"  'He  let  me  do  the  naming,  and,  of  course,  I 
consulted  my  child.  I  couldn't  think  of  anything 
lovelier  than  to  name  her  for  the  two  founders 
of  the  Vigilantes,  and  after  I'd  told  her  all  about 
you  she  was  pleased  as  pleased  could  be.  I  let 
her  choose  between  Priscilla  Hunter  Richards  and 
Virginia  Winthrop  Richards,  and  she  took  Vir- 
ginia and  named  her  new  doll  Priscilla.  I  wish 
I  could  have  named  her  for  you  and  Mary,  Vivian, 
dear,  but  Dad  thought  two  names  were  enough. 

"  'We're  the  very  happiest  family  you  ever  saw. 
Virginia  fits  in  better  every  day.  She's  learning 
such  sweet  manners — I  tell  Dad  it  just  shows  she 
must  be  sweet  inside !  She's  learning  to  read  and 
to  write,  too.  We  have  a  lesson  every  morn- 
ing after  breakfast.  The  other  day  I  bought  the 
pattern  of  a  little  dress,  and  Mrs.  Shute  helped 


A  Letter  from  Dorothy  155 

me  cut  it  out  and  make  it.  I  never  felt  so  proud 
in  all  my  life.  I'm  obliged  to  be  more  vigilant 
than  ever,  because  Virginia  does  and  says  every- 
thing that  I  do.  The  other  day  I  said  I  should 
certainly  die  if  I  didn't  get  a  letter  from  some 
of  you,  and  she  was  quite  frightened.  So  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  be  more  moderate  in  speech  after 
this. 

"  'There's  one  thing  more  I  must  tell  you  be- 
fore  I  stop.  I  saw  Imogene  the  other  day.  Dad 
and  Virginia  and  I  were  walking  by  one  of  the 
big  hotels  here,  when  an  automobile  came  up  to 
the  curbing.  You  can  just  imagine  how  surprised 
I  was  when  Imogene  and  Mrs.  Meredith  stepped 
out.  There  was  a  young  man  with  them  whom 
I  didn't  like  very  well.  He  had  a  queer  way  of 
looking  at  you,  and  was  over-dressed,  I  thought. 
Imogene  looked  very  handsome,  and,  oh,  loads 
older!  I  felt  a  perfect  baby  beside  her!  Mrs. 
Meredith  was  just  the  same,  only  even  more  elab- 
orately gowned  than  she  used  to  be  when  she  vis- 
ited Imogene.  Imogene  was  as  surprised  as  I 
was,  I  think,  though  she  didn't  show  it.  She  and 


156     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

her  mother  shook  hands  with  me,  and  she  intro- 
duced her  friend.  I  was  so  excited  I  didn't  hear 
his  name  at  all.  She  told  me  she  was  going  to  be 
married  at  Christmas  time,  and  so  wouldn't  be 
back  at  St.  Helen's,  and  Mr.  Whoever-he-was 
laughed  and  said  Imogene  had  been  to  school  long 
enough.  Dad  and  I  asked  them  to  tea  with  us, 
but  they  said  they  were  just  hurrying  through  and 
couldn't  come. 

"  'When  they  left  us  and  went  into  the  hotel  I 
had  the  queerest  feeling.  'Twas  just  as  though 
I  had  said  good-by  to  Imogene  forever — just  as 
though  she'd  gone  away  into  a  different  world. 
And  the  queerest  part  of  it  all  was  that  I  didn't 
care  very  much.  It  seemed  years  since  I  had  cared 
for  her — years  since  we  had  done  things  together 
at  St.  Helen's.  That  night  after  I  had  put  Vir- 
ginia to  bed,  and  come  out  on  the  porch  with  Dad, 
a  big  machine  flew  by  our  house.  I  heard  some 
one  laugh,  and  knew  it  was  Imogene.  She  hadn't 
been  hurrying  through;  she  just  hadn't  cared  to 
come.  I  suppose  it  ought  to  have  hurt  me,  but 
it  didn't.  I  was  glad  she'd  stopped  caring,  too, 


A  Letter  from  Dorothy  157 

the  way  I  had.  Then,  at  least,  neither  of  us  would 
be  hurt.  The  only  thing  I'm  sorry  about  is  that 
Imogene  has  gone  into  that  kind  of  a  world.  I 
don't  believe  it  can  give  the  best  kind  of  happi- 
ness, do  you? 

"  'It's  nearly  church  time,  and  I  must  hurry. 
We're  all  going  together.  It's  Virginia's  very  first 
service,  except  for  those  at  the  Home,  and  I  do 
hope  she'll  be  good.  I've  been  instructing  her  for 
days — telling  her  just  what  to  do  and  what  not 
to  do.  I'm  afraid  I'll  send  out  many  thoughts 
in  your  direction,  but  Miss  Wallace  says  they're 
prayers  anyway — that  is,  the  kind  I'd  send  to  you, 
so  I  guess  it  will  be  all  right.  There's  Virginia 
calling  now. 

"  'Dearest  love, 

"  'DOROTHY. 

"  'P.S.  After  service.  She  was  angelic! 
When  she  knelt  and  closed  her  eyes,  she  looked 
like  one  of  Raphael's  cherubs.  Dad  wiped  his 
eyes — I  saw  him — and  I  could  have  cried  for  hap- 
piness. The  sermon  was  on  "Vigilance" — wasn't 
that  strange?  The  minister  spoke  about  watch- 


158     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ing  for  opportunities  to  serve,  for  in  so  doing,  he 
said,  we  served  ourselves  most  of  all.  Dad 
looked  at  me  then  and  smiled,  and  we  both  looked 
at  Virginia,  our  opportunity.  She  was  finding 
A's  in  the  prayer-book. 

"  'This  is  a  selfish  letter — all  about  me — but  I 
knew  you'd  want  to  know  about  your  namesake. 
Write  me  right  away.  We'll  be  watching  every 
mail. 

"  'DOROTHY.'  " 

They  looked  at  one  another  with  shining  eyes  as 
Priscilla  folded  the  letter.  Mary  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Isn't  it  the  loveliest  thing  in  all  the  world  for 
Dorothy  to  do?"  she  said. 

"Wonderful!"  cried  the  two  who  possessed  a 
namesake. 

"I  think  we  ought  to  make  Virginia  Winthrop 
Richards  a  present,"  proposed  Priscilla.  "I  never 
felt  so  important  in  all  my  life,  did  you,  Virginia?" 

"Never !"  said  Virginia.    "Why  so  quiet,  Vivian  ?" 

"I  was  thinking  about  Imogene,"   said  Vivian. 


159 


"I'm  wondering  why  I  don't  care  much  either.  It's 
strange  when  I  cared  so  much  for  her — only  four 
months  ago." 

In  their  excitement  over  Dorothy's  child,  the  oth- 
ers had  for  the  moment  forgotten  Imogene. 

"I  guess  it's  because  we  went  as  far  as  the  cross- 
roads together,"  explained  Virginia,  "and  then  chose 
different  paths.  I  feel  the  same  way  Dorothy  does. 
I'm  sorry  for  Imogene,  but  I  don't  feel  any  great 
loss  myself." 

"I  propose  we  adjourn,"  said  the  excited  Priscilla, 
"and  go  down  and  tell  the  news  to  Aunt  Nan  and 
Mr.  Hunter.  That  is,  if  there's  no  more  business," 
she  added,  looking  toward  the  president. 

The  president  declared  the  meeting  adjourned, 
and  they  started  homeward.  By  a  large  spruce  they 
stopped  for  a  moment.  The  ground  beneath  the 
tree  was  a  garden,  glad  with  blossoming  flowers. 
Virginia's  gray  eyes  looked  at  them,  then  sought 
the  distant  mountains. 

"I  never  thought,"  she  said  softly,  "that  I'd  love 
to  come  up  here  the  way  I  do.  Of  course  I  know 
Jim  isn't  here.  He's  gone  on  to  make  others  happy 


160     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

Somewhere  Else.  But  I  like  to  remember  how  we 
used  to  climb  up  here  and  look  off  at  the  country. 
He  always  loved  it  so.  I  used  to  be  so  lonely  .with- 
out him,  but  now  I'm  glad — glad  he's  having  all  the 
wonderful  things  that  just  must  happen  after  we — 
go  on !  That's  why  I  like  William's  flowers  so ! 
They're  so  glad,  too !" 

"I  like  William  for  taking  such  good  care  of 
them,"  said  Mary.  "I  saw  him  coming  up  here  yes- 
terday with  his  garden  tools." 

"William!"  cried  Virginia  gladly.  "Why,  Wil- 
liam's always  been  next  best  to  Jim !" 


CHAPTER  XI 

"EVER  VIGILANT" 

"THERE'S  no  reason  in  the  world  why  more  than 
three  of  us  should  go  back,"  said  Virginia.  "I  know 
just  exactly  where  she  left  it.  It's  on  the  table  just 
back  of  the  jars  of  raspberries.  All  right,  Vivian, 
if  you  insist  and  are  sure  you're  not  too  tired.  It's 
all  of  six  miles  there  and  back,  you  know.  It's  not 
a  bit  necessary,  Carver,  but  we'd  love  to  have  you 
come  if  you  want  to.  Sagebrush  Point,  Don — at  the 
open  place?  All  right,  we'll  be  there." 

"Be  sure  to  make  the  Canyon  Path  before  dusk," 
warned  Donald.  "It's  bad  there,  you  know.  Sig- 
nals all  right?  Better  take  my  revolver.  Malcolm 
has  his." 

Virginia  examined  the  revolver  before  securing 
the  holster  to  her  saddle. 

"Two,  if  we  need  you;  three,  if  everything's  all 
right.  You  probably  won't  hear  either.  We'll  see 
you  by  six  o'clock.  Good  luck !" 

161 


162     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

She  turned  Pedro,  and,  followed  by  Carver  and 
Vivian,  rode  back  up  the  trail,  while  the  others 
kept  on  down  the  mountain  side  toward  Sagebrush 
Point  where  they  were  to  meet  Malcolm  and  Aunt 
Nan. 

They  had  ridden  far  up  Bear  Canyon,  miles  be- 
yond the  farthest  bear-trap,  to  the  Forest  Ranger's 
cabin.  The  trail  was  wilder  than  six  of  them  had 
ever  imagined  a  trail  could  be.  Sometimes  it  was 
almost  obliterated,  but  the  blaze  of  the  rangers 
with  its  U.S.  brand  told  them  that  human  beings 
had  traversed  it,  and  that  they  might  safely  follow. 
At  noon  they  had  reached  the  cabin — a  lonely  eyrie 
looking  down  into  the  gorge  of  the  river.  Behind 
it  unbroken  forests  stretched  for  miles. 

The  ranger  was  away  upon  his  beat,  but  his  door 
stood  hospitably  open,  and  they  had  gladly  entered, 
sure  that  a  welcome  was  intended.  In  his  little 
kitchen  they  had  eaten  dinner,  leaving  some  of  their 
bacon  as  a  gift.  Then  an  idea  had  seized  Aunt  Nan. 
Why  not  pick  some  of  the  raspberries  which  grew 
in  profusion  near  by,  and  cook  a  quart  of  them 
as  winter  preserves  for  the  ranger?  It  did  not  take 


"Ever  Vigilant11  163 

very  long  for  nine  pair  of  hands  to  pick  three  quarts 
instead  of  one,  and  within  an  hour,  sugar  having 
been  found  in  the  pantry,  the  berries  were  cooking 
on  the  little  stove.  Jars,  too,  were  discovered,  and 
at  three  o'clock  when  the  boys  had  brought  the 
horses,  five  cooks  in  khaki  surveyed  their  gift  with 
proud  eyes.  They  had  ridden  hurriedly  away,  re- 
alizing that  they  were  already  late  if  they  wanted 
Sagebrush  Point  for  a  camping-place;  and  three 
miles  below  the  cabin  Vivian  had  discovered  the 
loss  of  her  wrist- watch,  a  birthday  gift  from  her 
father. 

"Don't  you  worry  a  bit,  Vivian,"  Virginia  said, 
reassuringly,  as  she  urged  Pedro  up  the  steep  trail. 
"We'd  just  as  soon  ride  back  as  not,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  you  lose  the  watch  for  the  world.  Of  course 
the  ranger  would  keep  it  safe  for  us,  but  there's  no 
knowing  when  we  could  get  away  up  here  again. 
It's  best  to  go  now  when  we're  only  three  miles 
away." 

"I'm  dead  sure  it's  right  on  the  table,"  said  "Car- 
ver. "I  saw  you  put  it  there,  Vivian,  when  you  got 
ready  to  wash  the  dishes." 


164     Virginia  of  Elk  "Creek  Valley 

Carver  Standish  was  right.  The  watch  was  on 
the  table  where  she  had  left  it.  The  cabin  seemed 
more  lonely  than  ever  as  they  hurried  away.  The 
rush  of  the  river  hundreds  of  feet  below,  the  drowsy 
hum  of  the  August  insects,  and  the  sound  of  their 
horses'  feet  upon  the  stones  alone  broke  the  si- 
lence. Vivian  shivered. 

"I  hate  it  here,  now,"  she  said.  "Let's  hurry  back 
to  the  others." 

But  it  was  impossible  to  hurry  down  the  steep, 
rocky  trail.  The  horses  were  tired,  and  a  misstep 
or  a  stumble  would  be  dangerous.  Pedro,  sure  of 
himself  on  any  trail,  led  the  way,  and  Vivian  and 
Carver  followed,  weaving  right  and  left  down  the 
mountain  side.  More  than  once  Carver  glanced  ap- 
prehensively at  his  watch.  It  was  growing  late — 
nearly  five  already ! — and  Virginia  had  told  Donald 
they  would  be  at  Sagebrush  Point  at  six!  It  was 
impossible.  They  could  never  make  it! 

Vivian  was  worried,  too.  She  hated  the  shadows 
that  began  to  creep  in  among  the  trees,  the  lonely 
call  of  a  bird  in  the  timber,  the  coolness  that  came 
as  the  afternoon  waned.  She  shivered  again,  when 


"Ever  Vigilant"  165 

at  the  first  ford,  where  they  had  separated  more 
than  an  hour  before,  the  rawhide  thongs  in  one  of 
her  stirrups  broke,  and  caused  a  second  delay. 

Carver's  none  too  agile  fingers  laced  and  re-tied 
the  thong.  Virginia  allowed  Pedro  to  nibble  at  the 
quaking-asps  and  tried  to  be  patient  while  she 
watched  the  repairing.  More  than  once  she  was 
tempted  to  jump  from  her  saddle  and  do  the  work 
herself,  but  she  knew  that  Carver  would  resent  the 
intrusion.  Carver  Standish  III  heartily  disliked 
any  intimation  that  he  was  a  tenderfoot.  Safe  and 
satisfied  in  the  citadel  of  New  England  birth  and 
ancestry,  he  still  was  averse  to  any  suggestion  of 
inferiority  in  Wyoming.  Virginia  liked  Carver, 
though  she  knew  him  far  better  now  than  she  had 
ever  dreamed  she  should.  She  liked  him  in  spite 
of  the  tinge  of  snobbishness  which  would  creep  in 
now  and  then,  try  as  he  did  to  conceal  it.  She  even 
liked  him  during  the  ten  minutes  he  took  to  lace  the 
thong  when  she  could  have  done  it  in  three. 

It  was  growing  dark  when  they  at  last  swung 
into  the  easier,  grass-grown  trail  of  the  lower  moun- 
tains— dark  and  cold.  The  realization  that  they  were 


166     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

already  two  miles  from  supper  and  the  others,  to- 
gether with  the  knowledge  that  there  was  still  the 
Canyon  Path  to  cross,  made  them  all  silent  and  very 
grave.  They  hurried  their  horses  through  the  last 
of  the  tallest  timber  and  out  upon  the  bare  summit 
of  a  mountain,  which  looked  down  across  the  valley 
and  the  river  to  a  point  beyond.  As  they  gazed, 
flames  shot  up  from  the  point  where  a  newly-kindled 
fire  was  welcoming  the  first  star.  Dark  specks  were 
visible  about  the  fire — persons  moving  here  and 
there.  Sagebrush  Point — a  mile  across  the  valley, 
two  by  the  trail! 

Carver  looked  questioningly  at  Virginia,  and 
found  his  answer  in  the  smile  she  gravely  gave  him. 
They  would  go  no  farther.  Carver  knew  it  before 
Virginia  discovered  the  paper.  Vivian  suspected, 
but  would  not  know.  They  sat  quietly  in  their 
saddles  while  she  rode  Pedro  close  to  a  great  pine 
which  bore  a  ranger's  sign,  burned  in  a  piece  of 
wood. 

"Two  miles  to  Sagebrush  Point,"  read  the  sign. 

"A  good  camping-place.    Dangerous  trailing!" 

Below  the  sign  was  a  folded  piece  of  paper,  fas- 


"Ever  Vigilant"  167 

tened  by  Donald's  scarf-pin  to  the  tree,  and  bear- 
ing1 Virginia's  name.  She  read  it  silently  and  with 
difficulty  in  the  fast- fading  light. 

"It's  just  as  I  thought,"  she  explained.  "When 
Donald  reached  here  and  saw  what  a  long  time  it 
had  taken,  he  knew  we  couldn't  make  the  Point.  He 
says  not  to  attempt  it  if  it's  after  six,  and  it's  a  quar- 
ter of  seven  now.  I  wouldn't  try  the  Canyon  Path 
for  anything  in  this  light,  and  there's  no  other  way 
to  go.  We'll  just  have  to  camp  here,  that's  all! 
We've  our  blankets  and  matches  and  plenty  of  bacon 
and  bread,  and  there's  a  spring  near  by.  It  won't 
be  so  bad.  Quite  an  adventure !" 

Her  last  words  were  spoken  in  an  attempt  to  re- 
assure Vivian,  who  was  staring  at  her — the  epitome 
of  horror. 

"Camp — here — Virginia!  Alone!  Here!  In — 
this — wilderness!"  Vivian  was  monosyllabic  from 
terror. 

Carver  did  not  share  Vivian's  fear,  but  he  was 
a  trifle  overbearing  in  his  judgment  of  those  about 
the  fire  at  Sagebrush  Point. 

"If  Donald  thought  we  weren't  going  to  make  it, 


168     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

why  didn't  he  camp  here  himself  ?"  he  asked.  "Of 
course  it's  all  right  for  me,  but  it's  rather  tough 
on  you  and  Vivian.  I  should  think  he'd  have 
thought  of  that." 

Virginia  was  quick  to  champion  Donald.  Indeed 
Carver  Standish  III  would  have  given  much  for 
the  place  Donald  held  in  Virginia's  estimation. 

"Why,  Carver,"  she  said,  frank  in  her  displeas- 
ure, "Donald's  one  of  the  most  thoughtful  persons 
in  the  world.  Malcolm  and  Aunt  Nan  were  over 
at  Sagebrush,  and  he  couldn't  get  word  to  them 
before  dark.  Besides,  he  knows  I'm  not  afraid 
to  camp  by  ourselves.  They're  right  across  on 
Sagebrush,  and  there's  nothing  in  this  world  to 
harm  us.  Of  course  he  wouldn't  have  gone  on  for 
anything  if  you  hadn't  been  here,  but  he  knew  he 
could  depend  on  you." 

.  The  knowledge  of  New  England  ancestry  could 
not  keep  Carver  Standish  from  feeling  small  as  he 
unsaddled  the  horses,  and  tied  them  in  among  the 
trees.  Then,  considering  work  a  good  antidote,  he 
cut  brush  and  brought  dry  sticks  for  a  fire.  A  dead 
cedar  promised  logs  enough  for  the  night,  and  these 


THEN   FIVE   IN    QUICK   SUCCESSION    CAME   FROM   VIRGINIA'S 
REVOLVER  " 


"Ever  Vigilant"  169 

Carver  cut,  trimmed,  and  piled.  Vivian,  unable 
as  yet  to  comprehend  the  situation,  stood  looking 
off  toward  the  fire  on  the  point,  and  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  she  had  wings.  Virginia  un- 
strapped the  blankets  and  laid  them  upon  a  fallen 
log.  Then,  the  big  revolver  in  her  hand,  she  waited 
only  for  the  fire  to  give  those  watching  on  Sage- 
brush the  signals  agreed  upon.  At  last  the  flame- 
colored  smoke  burst  into  tongues  of  fire,  leaping, 
crackling  tongues  which  told  the  anxious  watchers 
on  Sagebrush  that  the  note  had  been  found  and 
that  all  was  well.  A  moment  later  three  shots 
from  the  mountain  opposite  tore  away  the  still- 
ness. Donald  sent  back  an  answering  three.  Then 
five  in  quick  succession  came  from  Virginia's 
revolver. 

"It's  the  old  signal  we've  always  used  in  hunt- 
ing," Donald  explained  to  Mary,  Priscilla,  and  Jack 
who  were  standing  beside  him.  "It  means,  'We're 
going  to  camp  here.'  I  knew  Virginia  would  de- 
cide on  that.  She  always  does  the  sensible  thing 
anyway,"  he  added  proudly. 

Malcolm  and  Aunt  Nan,  standing  near  the  wa- 


170     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ter's  edge,  watched  the  flames  of  Virginia's  fire 
as  they  blazed  skyward. 

"I've  never  quite  realized  before  what  Virginia's 
made  of,"  said  Aunt  Nan  thoughtfully.  "If  her 
Grandmother  Webster  were  here  this  minute,  I  think 
perhaps  she'd  realize  that  there  are  qualities  which 
balance  being  born  in  New  England." 

"Perhaps,"  returned  Malcolm,  a  little  doubtfully. 
"Perhaps  she  would.  I've  known  New  Englanders 
to  realize  several  things.  The  trouble  is  they're 
very  much  averse  to  admitting  it." 

Meanwhile  the  three  on  the  summit  across  the 
valley  had  dined,  frugally  to  be  sure,  and  some- 
what silently  on  bread  and  bacon.  Now  sweater- 
clad  they  sat  before  the  fire,  and  munched  at  some 
sweet  chocolate  which  Carver  had  discovered  in 
his  coat  pocket.  With  every  nibble  Vivian  peered 
among  the  trees  behind  her,  glanced  fearfully  right 
and  left,  and  ended  by  gazing  with  longing  eyes 
at  the  fire  on  Sagebrush  Point.  Carver  hugged  his 
knees,  and  rocked  idly  to  and  fro.  Virginia  gazed 
thoughtfully  into  the  flames.  To  her  a  night  in 
a  mountain  forest  was  a  privilege,  whether  three 


"Ever  Vigilant"  171 

or  nine  shared  its  glories.  To  be  sure,  a  tent  would 
be  a  distinct  addition,  but  since  they  had  none 
they  must  do  without  it.  Its  absence  was  but  an 
incident,  and  gave  her  little  anxiety — far  less,  in 
fact,  than  the  fear  which  she  detected  in  the  blue 
eyes  of  Vivian.  For  to  Vivian  the  approaching 
night  was  a  terrible  ordeal  through  which  she 
must  go.  Her  reason  fled  away  to  parts  unknown, 
and  only  imagination  remained  to  create  a  moun- 
tain lion  in  every  thicket,  and  mysterious,  unearthly, 
disembodied  presences  in  the  air,  behind  her  back, 
at  her  very  elbow.  She  was  grateful  when  Carver 
came  to  sit  beside  her.  With  Virginia  on  the  other 
side,  two  less  avenues  of  approach  were  opened. 
At  all  events  she  would  not  talk  about  her  fear; 
and,  acting  upon  her  resolve,  she  did  her  best  to 
join  in  the  conversation  on  school  and  books  and 
athletics. 

Ten  o'clock  came,  and  Carver  brought  wood 
for  the  fire.  Then  he  unrolled  their  blankets, 
spreading  them  over  pine  boughs  already  cut  and 
placed  upon  the  ground.  The  ground  itself  was 
a  good  enough  mattress  for  him,  he  said,  as  he 


172     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

rolled  in  his  blanket  Indian-fashion,  and  lay  down 
under  a  great  pine.  They  need  have  no  anxiety 
as  to  the  fire.  He  probably  should  sleep  but  little, 
and  would  replenish  it  whenever  wood  was  needed. 
If  they  wanted  a  thing  or  became  frightened  in 
the  night,  they  should  speak  to  him. 

Vivian,  sleepy  in  spite  of  her  fears,  lay  down 
upon  the  boughs,  her  head  in  Virginia's  lap.  She 
knew  she  should  not  close  her  eyes,  but  she  might 
as  well  rest.  If  a  bear  or  a  mountain  lion  came, 
it  would  make  little  difference  whether  she  were 
sitting  or  reclining.  Virginia  was  not  sleepy.  She 
preferred  to  sit  up. 

In  half  an  hour  a  long,  resigned  snore  from  the 
neighborhood  of  the  great  pine  proved  that  Carver 
Standish  had  forgotten  all  about  fires  and  protec- 
tion. Virginia  smiled  to  herself  as  she  reached  for 
more  wood.  There  was  bacon  in  camp  and  un- 
doubtedly bears  on  the  mountain.  The  combination 
made  a  big  fire  desirable.  Moreover,  she  was  de- 
termined that  the  Sagebrush  Point  fire,  replenished 
from  time  to  time  by  a  black  dot,  should  not  eclipse 
her  own. 


"Ever  Vigilant"  173 

"Sit  up  a  minute,  Vivian,"  she  whispered,  trying 
to  rise.  "I  want  to  get  one  of  those  big  logs  which 
I  can't  reach  from  here.  I'll  be  back  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

But  when  she  returned  with  the  log,  Vivian's  head 
had  dropped  upon  the  blankets,  and  the  flames  which 
leaped  up  a  moment  later  showed  her,  to  Virginia's 
joy,  to  be  fast  asleep. 

So  the  founder  of  the  Vigilantes  was  the  only  one 
left  to  guard  the  fortunes  of  the  camp.  She  took 
her  station  near  the  edge  of  the  slope,  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  fire,  drew  her  blanket  close  around 
her,  and  began  her  vigil.  There  was  so  much  to 
see  and  to  think  about !  She  was  glad  she  felt  wide- 
awake. 

Deep  in  the  gorge  below  her,  the  river  called  with 
a  thousand  voices.  Down  in  the  valley  the  pine  trees 
reared  their  heads — little  spear  points  pricking  the 
purple  blackness  of  the  night.  The  fire  on  Sage- 
brush sparkled  like  a  single  jewel  in  a  vast  setting. 
Far  above  and  beyond  the  valley  rose  the  opposite 
height,  dark  and  indistinct — a  bridge  between  two 
worlds.  To  Virginia  she  was  like  an  eagle,  secure 


174     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

in  his  nest  on  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  a  cliff,  and 
looking  forth  upon  his  domain. 

Now  she  turned  her  face  upward  toward  the  deep, 
almost  transparent  blue  of  the  midnight  sky.  It  was 
set  with  myriads  of  stars — great  arc-lights,  beacons 
at  sea,  flickering  candle-flames.  A  star  fell — it  was 
one  of  the  beacons — and  came  earthward,  trailing 
glory  in  its  wake.  Then,  the  path  blazed,  another 
followed,  and  a  third.  The  last  was  a  little  candle- 
flame,  almost  too  tiny  to  find  its  way  alone.  The 
Milky  Way  was  a  great,  golden  trail  across  the  sky. 
If  souls  traversed  it  on  their  way  to  the  Great 
Throne,  as  she  had  believed  when  she  was  a  little 
girl,  they  would  have  no  difficulty  to-night  in  find- 
ing their  way.  She  traced  its  triumphant  course 
across  the  heavens.  It  seemed  to  begin  on  earth, 
she  thought  to  herself,  and  come  back  to  earth  again 
after  its  journey  skyward.  That  might  break  in 
pieces  her  childhood  dream.  But  perhaps  there  were 
Great  Thrones  on  earth,  too,  if  one  only  searched 
far  enough.  Who  knew  that  there  were  not? 

After  all,  Life  was  a  search.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  realize  that  more  every  day.  It  meant  a 


"Ever  Vigilant!'  175 

seeking  after  the  best  things.  What  were  those 
best  things,  she  wondered?  Had  she  discovered 
the  trail  which,  like  the  Milky  Way,  led  to  them? 
Friendship  was  one,  she  concluded — the  real  friend- 
ship which  never  demanded  more  than  it  was  will- 
ing to  give.  And  Service  was  another — the  desire 
to  help  people  over  the  hard,  rocky  places — to  be 
a  comrade,  not  just  a  spectator.  Dorothy  had  dis- 
covered that.  Then  the  Love  of  Beautiful  Things 
must  surely  be  a  third — the  love  of  books  and  pic- 
tures and  of  all  the  wonderful  treasures  of  the  out- 
of-doors.  These  were  not  all.  There  were  others 
to  be  found  far  ahead,  Virginia  knew — treasures 
more  wonderful  than  any  yet  discovered — if  one 
searched  and  were  worthy  of  finding  them. 

At  least  she  knew  she  had  discovered  the  key 
which  would  open  the  gate  to  the  trail.  She  felt  of 
it  upon  her  waist.  To  be  "Ever  Vigilant"  would 
open  the  door.  To  be  watchful  of  one's  opportu- 
nities; never  to  scorn  a  chance  to  serve;  to  guard 
against  the  cheap  and  the  unlovely  in  books  and 
thoughts;  to  keep  the  windows  of  one's  soul  shin- 
ing and  clean,  so  that  the  light  of  all  things  beau- 


176     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

tiful  might  shine  in.  She  held  the  little  pin  close 
in  her  hand.  She  and  Priscilla  and  Dorothy 
and  Mary  and  Vivian  would  keep  to  the  trail 
together. 

Life  was  such  a  great,  big  thing  she  said  to  her- 
self. Her  breath  sobbed  in  her  throat  at  the. 
thought.  It  was  like  a  day  in  April — cloudy  and 
sunny  and  wind-blown  and  rainy.  She  wanted  her 
own  life  to  be  like  that.  Then  she  could  under- 
stand the  storms  and  clouds  in  other  lives,  and 
prove  she  was  a  comrade  and  not  just  an  on- 
looker ! 

The  fire  died  down  and  she  went  for  more  wood. 
As  she  placed  a  big  log  on  the  glowing  embers  and 
turned  away  from  the  heat  as  it  burst  into  flame, 
she  saw  that  the  fire  on  Sagebrush  was  rekindled 
also.  She  could  discern  a  shadowy  shape  in  the 
light  of  it.  Donald,  perhaps.  He  loved  the  night, 
too.  She  had  forgotten  Donald  for  the  moment 
when  she  chose  her  comrades  for  the  Long  Trail, 
but  he  must  go.  She  had  followed  trails  with  Don- 
ald all  her  life,  and  on  this  great  journey  she  needed 
his  comradeship  more  than  ever. 


"Ever  Vigilant"  177 

It  was  one  o'clock,  her  little  watch  said — time  to 
sleep.  The  great  log  with  another  added  would 
last  till  morning.  She  rolled  the  second  against 
the  first,  and  lay  down  beside  Vivian.  The  heat 
from  the  fire  made  her  drowsy,  and  she  soon  slept. 
The  flames  leaped  against  the  darkness;  Pedro 
awakened  and  neighed  questioningly ;  another  star 
fell  from  the  sky.  Carver,  Virginia,  and  Vivian 
were  all  in  lands  of  their  own.  All  at  once  a  hide- 
ous yell  shattered  the  night  silence.  It  shrieked 
and  quavered  and  moaned,  and  at  last  died  away 
in  an  echo  that  encircled  the  valley.  Virginia, 
mounting  a  rocky  hill  with  Donald,  sat  up  sud- 
denly. A  figure  enshrouded  in  blankets  stood  be- 
side her.  Vivian  mercifully  slept  on. 

"Gee !"  screamed  the  half-asleep  and  wholly  fright- 
ened Carver  Standish  III.  "What  was  that?" 

"A  mountain  lion,"  said  Virginia,  shaking  in  spite 
of  herself.  "But  he's  miles  away  across  the  valley. 
I'm  glad  Vivian  didn't  wake  up.  She'd  have  been 
scared  to  death." 

"I  shouldn't  blame  her !"  replied  Carver  in  a  sten- 
torian whisper.  "I  never  heard  anything  like  it 


178     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

in  my  life.  •  My !  I'm  sleepy !  It's  most  eleven, 
isn't  it?" 

Virginia  smiled  into  the  darkness.  Not  for 
worlds  would  she  have  told  Carver  of  his  unsuc- 
cessful vigil. 

"Yes,  Carver,"  she  said.    "It's— it's  past  eleven!" 

Alone  she  watched  the  day  come  as  she  had 
watched  it  go.  She  saw  the  last  stars  fade  away, 
and  the  half-light  of  early  morning  greet  the  east- 
ern mountains.  She  felt  in  a  strange  silence  the 
mystery  and  majesty  of  dawn.  A  mourning  dove 
in  a  faraway  thicket  said  farewell  to  the  night;  an 
early  morning  wind  stirred  the  quaking-asps;  an 
orange  and  yellow  bird  left  his  nest  and  mate  to 
fly  across  the  valley  toward  a  sky-line  of  his  own 
hue.  The  trees  stood  expectant.  Then  the  light 
came  in  long,  golden  rays.  It  was  day. 

By  six  they  were  on  their  way  to  breakfast  with 
their  fellow-campers  at  Sagebrush — Vivian,  incred- 
ulous that  the  night  was  really  over  and  that  she 
had  slept;  Carver,  secretly  much  disturbed  over  his 
protecting  powers;  Virginia,  eager,  radiant,  buoy- 


"Ever  Vigilant"  179 

ant.  Donald  waited  for  them  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Canyon  Path,  and  watched  their  safe  transit. 
Aunt  Nan  and  the  others  were  ready  at  the  camp 
with  welcomes  and  words  of  genuine  admiration. 

"I'd  have  been  worried  to  death  about  you,"  said 
Priscilla  with  her  arm  around  Virginia,  "if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Carver's  being  there.  Yes,  I  would,  Vir- 
ginia. I  don't  care  how  much  you  know  about 
camping.  A  man's  being  around  makes  a  heap 
of  difference.  You  know  it  does!" 

"Of  course,"  agreed  the  loyal  Virginia. 

But  Carver  Standish  III  drank  his  coffee  in  si- 
lence, glad  for  once  that  the  cup  was  large  enough 
to  hide  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   ROMAN   EMPEROR 

THE  late  August  days  came  relentlessly  on,  each 
in  turn  being  seized  by  the  Vigilantes  and  placed 
in  a  treasure-house  of  never-to-be-forgotten  joys. 
The  month  which  they  had  planned  in  June  was 
lengthening  into  six  weeks.  Mr.  Hunter  and  Vir- 
ginia had  insisted  and  Aunt  Nan  seemed  very  loath 
to  go.  Already  they  were  quite  Westernized.  They 
"rustled"  and  "cached"  and  "packed"  things  with- 
out even  stopping  to  think,  and  r's  were  unmis- 
takably creeping  into  Priscilla's  strictly  Bostonian 
speech.  What  would  the  Winthrop  family  say? 

Every  day  the  country  grew  lovelier.  A  veil  of 
bronze  and  purple  was  being  laid  softly  over  the 
foot-hills,  and  the  waiting  wheat  stood  golden.  Day 
after  day  the  sun  rose  in  glory,  and  after  a  cloud- 
less journey  set  in  a  golden  sea.  In  the  woods 
the  berries  of  the  kinnikinnick  grew  red,  and  on  the 

180 


The  Roman  Emperor  181 

lawn  the  mountain  ash  trees  stood  clothed  in  holi- 
day attire.  The  air  was  clear  and  bracing;  the 
nights  were  cold.  One  morning  the  highest  moun- 
tain was  white  with  snow,  which,  when  the  sun 
rose  higher,  hurried  away,  as  though  it  had  told 
a  secret.  September  was  on  the  way,  and  these  were 
her  forerunners. 

"I  never  supposed,"  announced  Priscilla  one 
morning  at  breakfast,  "that  weeks  could  go  so  fast. 
It  makes  old  age  seem  awfully  close.  And  still 
I  know  how  slowly  they  go  sometimes,  like  Janu- 
ary at  St.  Helen's,  for  instance.  Just  sixteen  more 
days,  and  we'll  be  going  back  East,  Virginia.  Dad 
says  if  I'm  not  back  by  the  tenth,  they'll  motor  to 
the  White  Mountains  without  me.  I'm  afraid  I 
can't  help  feeling  superior  when  I  view  the  White 
Mountains  after  seeing  these !" 

Virginia  was  busily  counting  on  her  fingers. 

"I'm  trying  to  remember  just  what  we've  done 
and  what  we  haven't  done,"  she  said.  "Then  we 
can  see  what's  left.  We've  ridden  hundreds  of  miles, 
and  we've  climbed  mountains,  and  trapped  a  bear, 
and  shot  gophers,  and  fished,  and  homesteaded,  and 


182     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

camped,  and  visited  Aunt  Deborah  and  Jean  Mac- 
Donald.  I'm  so  glad  Jean  went  to  Aunt  Deborah's 
with  us.  It  was  such  fun  having  her  along.  Then 
we've  been  up  to  Mystic  Lake,  and  out  on  the  range 
\vith  Joe  and  William,  and " 

"But  you  haven't  visited  the  Roman  Emperor," 
interrupted  her  father.  "I  stopped  at  his  place  yes- 
terday on  my  way  home  from  Willow  Creek,  and 
found  him  at  home,  flag  out  and  all.  He  promised 
me  some  water-cress,  but  I  couldn't  wait  for  it.  You 
see,"  he  added,  smiling  at  the  puzzled  faces  around 
him,  "it  isn't  every  one  who  can  see  the  Emperor. 
It  takes  a  special  errand.  In  this  case,  it's  water- 
cress." 

"We'll  go  this  very  day!"  cried  Virginia.  "Cot- 
tonwood  Canyon  can  wait !  Don  and  I've  been  plan- 
ning it  all  along,  but  he  said  Mr. — the  Emperor, 
I  mean — was  away  up  in  the  mountains.  I'll  tele- 
phone over  for  the  boys  this  minute." 

Not  to  question  had  become  a  Vigilante  prin- 
ciple ;  and  not  to  appear  too  curious,  another.  Still 
the  mystery  which  filled  their  minds  concerning  the 
Emperor  was  ill-concealed.  They  knew  Patrick 


The  Roman  Emperor  183 

Sheehan,  the  old  Vigilante,  who  lived  on  the  Lone 
Mountain  trail,  and  queer  Aunt  Susan  Nevitt,  who 
was  reputed  to  have  a  bag  of  gold  nuggets  in  the 
cellar  of  her  tumble-down  cabin.  But  of  this  per- 
sonage, the  Roman  Emperor,  they  had  surely  never 
heard!  Curiosity  lent  haste  to  their  fingers,  and 
in  half  an  hour  they  were  ready  to  start. 

"His  ca — estate  is  off  the  road  to  Willow  Creek," 
Virginia  explained  as  they  went  out  to  greet  the 
boys.  "We've  ridden  by  the  driveway  loads  of 
times,  but  I  knew  he  wasn't  at  home  by  his  flag  not 
being  out.  That's  the  sign.  It's  that  way  in  Eng- 
land, you  know,  at  the  king's  and  dukes'  palaces. 
When  they're  at  home,  the  flag  is  flying." 

"I  see,"  said  Priscilla,  as  she  mounted  Cyclone. 
"Is  the  Emperor  old?" 

"Rather.  He's  nearly  eighty.  You  see,  he's  been 
reigning  twenty-five  years,  hasn't  he,  Don?" 

"Yes,  he  commenced  when  Malcolm  was  of  no 
account — twenty-five  years  or  so  ago.  He's  met 
with  lots  of  reverses,  too.  He  was  telling  me  just 
before  you  got  home  how  the  Senate  wouldn't  vote 
him  any  money  to  fix  up  the  estate.  He'll  probably 


184     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

apologize.  Everybody  ready?  Come  on!"  com- 
manded Don. 

They  rode  for  a  mile  across  the  open  prairie,  then 
turned  south  into  the  Willow  Creek  road,  which 
followed  the  foot-hills.  Conversation  regarding 
the  Emperor  was  tantalizing,  and  questioning  was 
forbidden.  Accordingly,  they  pocketed  their  curi- 
osity, and  devoted  their  time  to  one  another,  and 
to  the  signs  of  approaching  autumn  upon  the  brown 
hillsides.  Pedro  and  MacDuff,  eager  for  a  gal- 
lop, left  the  other  horses,  and  dashed  along  a  three- 
path,  grass-grown  trail  which  encircled  the  hill 
and  met  the  road  again  a  mile  beyond. 

"It's  just  the  chance  I  wanted,"  said  Donald,  rein- 
ing in  MacDuff  to  ride  beside  Virginia.  "I  want 
to  ask  you  about  Carver.  I  can't  make  him  out 
lately.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter.  He's  been 
queer  ever  since  that  night  on  the  mountain — last 
Tuesday,  wasn't  it?  Of  course  he's  all  right  to 
the  folks,  and  all  that,  but  he's  stuck  by  himself 
more  or  less,  and  seemed  stirred  up  over  something. 
Dave,  the  man  we  got  last  winter,  complained  to 
Dad  yesterday  about  Carver's  being  rather  officious 


The  Roman  Emperor  185 

with  the  men.  Dad  smoothed  it  over,  of  course, 
and  explained  how  Carver  didn't  understand  that 
that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  go  out  here.  But  it  kind 
of  worries  me.  Everything  went  all  right  up 
there,  didn't  it,  Virginia — on  the  mountain,  I 
mean'?" 

Not  even  Donald  could  detect  hesitation  in  Vir- 
ginia's reply.  If  Carver  still  chose  to  keep  the  ill- 
gotten  role  of  protector,  it  was  not  up  to  her  to 
take  it  from  him. 

"Why,  of  course,  Don,"  she  said  promptly. 
"Everything  was  perfectly  all  right.  I  guess  Carver 
wasn't  awfully  pleased  at  first  when  he  found  we 
had  to  stay.  You  see,  he — he  hasn't  much  patience 
with  Vivian  when  she's  nervous.  But  she  did  splen- 
didly, and  tried  her  best  not  to  show  how  she  felt 
inside.  And  I  couldn't  see  why  Carver  didn't  en- 
joy himself.  He  certainly  seemed  to!" 

Donald  was  plainly  puzzled. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  gets  me !  He's  not  a  fellow 
you  can  reach  very  easily  either.  If  it  were  Jack, 
I'd  ask  him  just  what  the  matter  was,  but  somehow 
it's  different  with  Carver.  There's  always  some- 


186     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

thing  in  the  way.  I  believe  it's — too  much  New 
England!" 

Virginia  laughed. 

"Too  much  of  it's  a  dreadful  barrier,"  she  ob- 
served. "Grandmother  Webster  had  too  much  when 
I  first  went  to  Vermont,  but  I  found  a  little  path 
that  led  around  it  after  I'd  searched  a  long  time.  I 
think  part  of  the  trouble  with  Carver  is  that  he's 
just  one  of  us  out  here.  He  isn't  looked  up  to 
the  way  he  is  at  home.  Priscilla  knew  him  last  sum- 
mer, you  know,  and  she's  told  me  about  him.  We 
were  talking  about  it  just  last  night,  because  we've 
noticed  he's  queer  lately.  Priscilla  says  he's  al- 
ways been  looked  up  to  by  boys  and  girls  of  his  age 
because  his  family's  so  old,  and  his  father  so  wealthy, 
and  his  grandfather  a  colonel.  In  New  England, 
you  know,  those  things  count,  especially  the  family 
and  the  colonel.  Then,  besides,  Carver's  bright  and 
fine-looking  and  an  only  son.  Out  here,  you  see, 
Don,  we  don't  care  so  much  about  colonels  and  old 
families  and  money.  They're  all  right,  of  course, 
if  you  have  them,  but  you've  an-  equal  chance  if 
you  don't," 


The  Roman  Emperor  187 

"Maybe  Carver's  learning  that  we're  right  after 
all,"  said  Donald  thoughtfully.  "Maybe  he's  see- 
ing that  ancestry  won't  make  a  man.  It's  hard 
to  admit  those  things,  I  know  that.  I  hated  to 
admit  that  the  Eastern  fellows  at  school  had 
better  manners  than  we  cow-punchers  from  this 
part  of  the  country.  But  'twas  so  all  the 
same." 

Virginia  allowed  Pedro  to  nibble  at  the  quaking- 
asps  before  she  spoke. 

"He'll  come  out  all  right,  Don,"  she  said.  "Don't 
let's  worry!  Sometimes  I  think  he's  like  Captain 
Myles  in  the  poem.  Priscilla  does,  too.  He  gets 
angry  all  at  once,  and  then  hates  himself  for  it. 
By  and  by  he'll  be  all  right  again,  and  as  nice  as 
ever  the  Captain  was  at  John  Alden's  wedding. 
Come  on,  let's  round  the  hill !  We're  nearly  at  Mr. 
Livy's,  and  they'll  think  we're  too  exclusive  for 
worlds!" 

The  Emperor's  flag  was  out — a  diminutive  and 
tattered  Old  Glory,  whose  shreds  fluttered  in  the 
wind.  It  was  tacked  to  a  wooden  box,  which, 
mounted  on  a  log  at  the  entrance  to  a  narrow, 


188     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

winding  path,  served  as  the  Emperor's  mail-box. 
The  name 

rA.  C.  Levinsky 

was  painted  upon  the  side  facing  the  road.  As  they 
turned  into  the  path,  Priscilla  halted  Cyclone. 
There,  was  a  decided  tinge  of  stubbornness  in  her 
voice  as  she  spoke. 

"I'm  not  going  another  step,"  she  announced, 
"until  I  know  about  this  Emperor  business.  I'm 
not  going  to  embarrass  any  poor  old  thing  who  may 
live  in  this  wilderness  by  not  knowing  anything 
about  him.  Come,  Donald!  You've  got  to  tell!" 

"I  intended  to  all  along  just  as  soon  as  we  reached 
the  bridge,"  said  Donald.  "I  know  the  Emperor, 
and  I  wouldn't  have  him  hurt  for  anything.  His 
real  name  is  Augustus  Caesar  Levinsky — at  least, 
his  last  name  is  Levinsky,  and  I  guess  he  hitched 
on  the  first.  He's  a  poor  old  prospector  who's  been 
in  this  valley  fifty  years.  He  claims  he  was  the 
very  first  to  come,  and  perhaps  he  was.  He's  dug 
holes  all  over  these  mountains  looking  for  gold,  and 
you're  always  coming  on  him  panning  out  gravel 


The  Roman  Emperor  189 

in  some  creek.  Some  one  grub-stakes  him  up  here 
to  get  his  land.  By  that,  I  mean,"  he  added,  noting 
the  puzzled  faces  of  his  listeners,  "that  some  one 
gives  him  food  and  clothes  and  a  promise  to  bury 
him  for  the  sake  of  the  land  he's  homesteaded. 
That's  the  way  with  old  Pat  Sheehan,  and  a  lot 
of  fellows  around  here." 

"And  now  he  thinks  he's  the  Emperor  of  Rome," 
said  Virginia,  continuing  the  Emperor's  story. 
"He's  been  thinking  that  for  twenty-five  years,  Fa- 
ther says.  Some  one  gave  him  an  old  Roman  His- 
tory years  ago,  and  he  knows  it  all  by  heart.  We 
all  call  him  Mr.  Livy  around  here.  He  says  he 
doesn't  feel  like  asking  his  friends  to  title  him.  He 
sounds  pathetic,  but  he  isn't  at  all.  He's  the  hap- 
piest man  you  ever  saw.  He's  like  the  verse  at  the 
beginning  of  Emerson's  Essay  on  History.  He  be- 
lieves he's  Csesar,  and  so  he  is.  You'll  be  surprised 
at  the  way  he  speaks,  and  the  fine  manners  he  has. 
It's  believing  he's  the  Emperor  that's  done  those 
things,  I'm  sure." 

Less  curious  but  more  interested,  they  followed 
the  cool,  shady  path  that  led  toward  the  imperial 


190     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

estates.  They  crossed  a  bridge  over  a  creek,  green 
with  fresh  water-cress,  their  open  sesame.  Upon 
the  railing  was  tacked  a  second  flag — this  one  new 
and  untorn. 

"The  Emperor  must  have  had  a  present,"  ob- 
served Virginia.  "You  catch  your  first  glimpse  of 
the  palace  around  this  curve." 

Around  the  curve  they  went,  and  into  an  open, 
path-cut  field  through  which  the  creek  meandered. 
The  palace  lay  in  the  farthest  corner.  It  did  not 
even  stand.  Its  old  logs,  disjoined  and  askew,  were 
all  but  on  the  ground.  How  the  roof  managed  to 
hold  the  chimney  was  a  mystery.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  it  was  the  chimney  which  acted  as  a  prop  to 
the  roof.  A  lean-to  of  poles,  sod,  and  bark  served 
as  an  entrance,  and  boasted  a  door.  Mountain- 
fringe  and  other  vines  had  taken  root  in  the  sod, 
and  were  undoubtedly  helping  to  hold  the  structure 
together. 

An  undisturbed,  unbroken  silence  reigned  over 
the  imperial  residence.  The  Emperor  was  doubt- 
less busy  with  affairs  of  state,  if  indeed  he  were 
not  away  upon  official  business.  Still  the  flag  dis- 


The  Roman  Emperor  191 

proved  his  absence.  He  might  be  simply  viewing 
the  domain. 

Suddenly  from  the  lean-to  came  such  fierce  bark- 
ing that  more  than  one  Vigilante  made  a  hasty  re- 
turn to  the  safety  of  her  saddle.  Then  the  door 
opened,  and,  preceded  by  his  dogs,  the  Emperor 
came  out  into  the  sunshine.  He  had  doubtless  been 
too  absorbed  to  note  their  coming. 

"Down,  Nero !  Down,  Trajan !"  they  heard  him 
say.  "Is  this  the  way  you  receive  my  guests?" 

The  dogs  ceased  barking,  and  stood  on  either  side 
of  him  as  he  surveyed  his  visitors.  They  in  turn 
surveyed  him.  They  saw  a  tall,  slight  old  man, 
still  unbent.  It  seemed  as  though  dignity  defied 
time  and  kept  him  upright.  His  frayed  white  shirt 
was  spotless,  and  his  gray  trousers,  held  up  by 
thongs  of  skin,  were  neatly  darned  and  clean.  The 
lines  in  his  smoothly  shaven  face  vied  in  intricacy 
with  the  streets  of  Boston ;  his  thin  hair  was  neatly 
brushed ;  his  faded  blue  eyes  were  gentle.  He  was 
the  kind  of  an  old  man  to  whom  one  instinctively 
showed  deference.  Moreover,  he  was  the  Roman 
Emperor. 


192     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

The  hats  of  Jack,  Carver,  and  Donald  came  off 
as  they  greeted  him. 

"These  are  our  friends,  Mr.  Livy,"  Donald  ex- 
plained. "You  remember  I  told  you  some  time  ago 
that  they  were  coming.  And  you  know  Virginia 
Hunter?" 

Mr.  Livy  did  know  Virginia.  He  and  Nero  and 
Trajan  came  forward  all  together  to  greet  her. 

"It's  good  to  see  your  face  again,  Miss  Virginia," 
said  the  Emperor.  "Your  father  was  here  day  be- 
fore yesterday.  He  mentioned  water-cress.  Was 
that  your  errand?" 

"That,  and  to  see  you,  Mr.  Livy,"  answered  Vir- 
ginia. "My  friends  wished  to  come.  I  hope  you're 
not  too  busy  to  show  them  around  a  little." 

The  Emperor  was  not  too  busy.  He  said  this 
with  a  bow,  which  was  many  times  repeated  as  he 
was  presented  to  the  others. 

"I  regard  you  as  friends,"  he  said  with  dignity, 
"otherwise  I  should  hesitate  to  show  you  the  pal- 
ace. There  is  a  sad  lack  of  funds  of  late — a  sad 
lack!  All  the  Senate's  appropriations  are  being 
expended  on  the  new  aqueduct,  and  on  new  roads 


The  Roman  Emperor  193 

through  the  provinces.  The  roads  hold  our  great 
possessions  together,  and  the  Emperor's  home  can 
wait.  But  next  year  all  will  be  different.  Then  I 
shall  again  plead  my  case,  and  money  will  be  forth- 
coming. This  way,  please,  young  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen. We  will  first  view  the  grounds." 

His  guests  in  respectful  silence  followed  him 
down  a  path  toward  the  creek  over  which  he  had 
placed  a  little  foot-bridge.  A  fish  jumped  as  they 
stepped  upon  the  logs,  and  swam  away  to  the  safe 
shelter  of  the  water-cress. 

"The  stream  is  well-stocked  with  the  best  of 
trout,"  explained  their  host.  "It  is  my  pastime 
to  catch  them  in  other  streams  and  to  bring  them 
here.  You  remember  Horace  upon  his  Sabine  farm  ? 
Such  pleasures  as  he  enjoyed  are  mine.  Yes,  there 
is  an  abundance  of  cress.  We  will  wait  until  later 
to  gather  it  that  it  may  be  fresh  and  crisp." 

They  followed  the  stream  in  its  meandering 
course  through  the  fields.  Their  guide  pointed  out 
to  them  this  and  that  beauty — the  fringed  gentians 
in  a  thicket  near  the  water's  edge;  a  late  wild  rose 
which  saw  its  pink  reflection  in  the  still,  amber  wa- 


194     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ter.  It  was  as  though  he,  aided  by  the  Senate's 
money,  had  laid  out  the  grounds  himself,  such  was 
his  pride  in  them.  Another  foot-bridge  brought 
them  back  to  the  other  side,  and  to  the  field-path 
which  led  to  the  house. 

The  Emperor  felt  called  upon  to  apologize  again 
before  opening  the  door  of  the  lean-to. 

"The  Senate  still  appropriates  for  conquests,"  he 
said  gravely.  "I  am  much  opposed.  The  Empire 
is  large  enough." 

They  went  within.  The  lean-to  was  a  chaotic 
place,  filled  to  overflowing  with  pick-axes,  spades, 
elk-horns,  musk-rat  traps,  mining  tools,  samples  of 
coal,  and  curiously-colored  pieces  of  rock.  Some 
skins,  stretched  on  boards,  were  drying  on  the  wall ; 
some  rude  fishing-rods  stood  in  one  corner.  The 
little  room  was  strangely  like  the  Emperor's  poor, 
befuddled  brain. 

The  room  in  the  main  house  was  hardly  imperial. 
A  small,  rickety  stove,  bearing  corn-meal  porridge 
in  a  tin  basin,  stood  in  the  center.  In  one  corner 
was  the  Emperor's  bed,  piled  high  with  skins;  in 
another,  a  scarred  and  battered  table.  Some  ragged 


The  Roman  Emperor  195 

articles  of  clothing  hung  about  the  room.  By  the 
one  window  was  his  chair,  and  on  the  floor  close 
by  lay  a  soiled  and  tattered  book — Smith's  History 
of  Ancient  Rome!  The  Emperor  picked  it  up 
eagerly  and  showed  it  to  his  guests. 

"I  was  reading  over  again  all  that  my  reign  has 
accomplished  when  you  came,"  he  said.  "There  are 
the  fire  department,  and  the  police,  and  the  new 
roads,  and  the  patronage  of  poets.  I  feel  encour- 
aged when  I  think  it  all  over." 

"I  should  think  you  would,"  complimented  Vir- 
ginia. "And  then  think  of  all  the  things  you  did 
before  you  were  Emperor !  Think  of  the  early  days 
out  here — the  Vigilantes  and  all !" 

Mr.  Livy's  faded  blue  eyes  gleamed.  Epochs 
had  become  as  nothing  to  him.  Now  he  was  Em- 
peror of  Rome,  and  then  he  had  fought  against 
robbers  and  road-agents  in  a  new  country.  It  was 
all  one. 

"Don't  I  remember  it!"  he  cried.  "Don't  I  re- 
member how  we  hung  seven  robbers  in  one  night 
from  a  single  cottonwood !  Don't  I  remember  how 
old  Jim  Gillis  said  to  me :  'For  God's  sake,  Levinsky, 


196     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

get  me  one  last  drink  before  I  die!'  I  got  it  for 
him,  and  in  a  minute  more  he  was  dead!" 

Jack  and  Carver's  eyes  shone.  They  thought  old 
tales  were  forthcoming,  but  they  did  not  know  the 
Emperor.  He  said  no  more  of  Vigilante  days,  but 
turned  toward  the  stove  to  stir  the  porridge. 

"I'll  get  the  water-cress  for  you  directly,"  he 
said  with  a  return  to  his  old  dignity.  "Give  it  to 
your  father  with  my  compliments,  Miss  Virginia. 
I  sent  some  but  recently  to  the  censor.  No  payment, 
I  insist!" 

Thus  dismissed,  his  guests  passed  reluctantly  out- 
side. Ten  minutes  later  they  were  making  their 
farewells.  The  Emperor  stood  between  Nero  and 
Trajan,  and  watched  them  go.  He  was  glad  of 
occasional  visitors,  but  more  glad  to  return  to  the 
knotty  problems  which  were  before  the  Empire. 

"Good-by,"  he  called  as  they  rode  away.  "Don't 
forget  to  notice  the  statue  of  Athena  just  within  the 
gate.  It's  a  recent  gift  from  the  Governor  of 
Gaul." 

Then  he  went  within  the  palace,  passed  through 
the  lofty  atrium,  and  entered  his  private  room, 


The  Roman  Emperor  107 

where  he  sat  down  to  continue  the  story  of  his 
glorious  reign. 

Meanwhile  his  guests  searched  for  the  Athena. 
There  might  be  something — a  post,  perhaps — that 
signified  the  goddess  of  wisdom  to  the  plastic  mind 
of  poor  Mr.  Levinsky.  But  they  could  find  nothing. 

''She's  only  a  dream  like  all  the  other  things," 
said  Priscilla.  "Poor  man !  I  can't  see  how  he  can 
reconcile  things  in  his  own  mind !" 

"He  doesn't,"  explained  Virginia.  "That's  the 
lovely  part  of  it!  He's  the  happiest  Emperor  I've 
ever  known  of  in  all  my  life!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON   THE    MESA 

"PEDRO,"  said  Virginia,  "do  you  realize  for  one 
little  minute  what's  happened  ?" 

Pedro  looked  back  and  whinnied.  He  realized 
at  least  that  something  was  agitating  his  mistress. 
But  half  an  hour  since  she  had  run  out  of  the  house 
to  where  he  was  feeding  beneath  the  cottonwoods, 
and  hurried  him  to  the  corral  where  she  had  sad- 
dled and  bridled  him  herself.  She  had  been  cry- 
ing then.  Quick  little  sobs  were  shaking  her  shoul- 
ders. Then  she  had  sprung  upon  his  back  and  rid- 
den like  mad  across  the  prairie  to  Elk  Creek  Valley. 
Had  MacDuff  been  along,  he  would  not  have 
minded;  but  it  was  too  warm  at  mid-day  to  gallop 
all  alone.  Once  during  that  wild  ride  she  had 
laughed,  and  once  she  had  leaned  forward  and 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck.  It  was  all  a  very 
strange  proceeding.  Now  she  had  mercifully  halted 

198 


On  the  Mesa  199 


him  on  the  brow  of  the  mesa,  and  was  allowing 
him  to  rest  and  feed  while  she  sat  in  silence  and 
looked  across  the  sagebrush  stretches  to  the  moun- 
tains. 

A  long  silence.  The  air  throbbed  with  a  hidden 
insect  chorus.  Little  waves  of  heat  shimmered 
above  the  mesa.  Jean  MacDonald's  three  cows, 
searching  for  better  feeding-grounds,  passed  by  and 
gazed  with  grave,  inquisitive  eyes  at  Pedro  and  Vir- 
ginia. Pedro  fed  on  where  he  was.  At  last  the 
girl  upon  his  back  spoke  again. 

"Pedro,"  she  began,  and  again  Pedro  raised  his 
head,  "Pedro,  I've  decided  that  Life  isn't  such  a 
strange  thing  after  all !  I've  always  thought  it  was 
until  to-day,  but  I  guess  it  isn't.  I  guess  it  just 
means  loving  people — and  things!  If  you  love  the 
wrong  kind  of  people  and  the  things  that  don't 
count,  why,  then — why,  then  Life's  a  sad,  gray 
thing.  But  if  you  love  the  right  kind  of  people,  the 
kind  who've  learned  that  a  primrose  isn't  just  a 
primrose,  and  things  like  the  mountain  and  the  mesa 
and  you,  Pedro — why,  then,  Life's  a  golden  thing 
like  to-day.  And  it's  the  loving  that  makes  all  the 


200     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

difference.  I  discovered  that  this  morning  when 
Aunt  Nan  told  me  about  Malcolm.  When  I  was  in 
Vermont  I  thought  that  Grandmother  and  Aunt 
Nan  were  about  the  happiest  people  I'd  seen;  but 
this  morning,  when  I  saw  the  light  in  Aunt  Nan's 
eyes,  I  understood.  I  guess  it's  a  home  that  makes 
all  the  difference,  Pedro — a  home  you  and  some- 
body  else  make  together !" 

Pedro  fed  on,  glad  to  be  talked  to,  confident  that 
his  mistress'  world  had  righted  itself  again.  A  pass- 
ing cloud  obscured  the  sun  for  a  brief  moment. 

"That's  the  way  it  was  with  me  this  morning," 
confided  Virginia.  "For  just  an  instant  I  felt  sorry. 
'Twas  the  selfish  part  of  me  coming  out.  I  didn't 
want  any  one  to  take  a  bigger  piece  of  Aunt  Nan's 
heart  than  mine.  I  didn't  want  to  move  over  and 
make  room  for  any  one  else — even  Malcolm.  But 
that  mean,  drab  feeling  lasted  only  a  moment.  It 
went  right  away,  and  now  I'm  glad,  glad — glad! 
If  Grandmother  Webster's  only  glad,  too,  there 
couldn't  be  any  greater  happiness  in  the  world,  could 
there,  Pedro?" 

Pedro  stopped  feeding  to  look  back  at  his  mis- 


On  the  Mesa  201 


tress,  and  to  shake  his  head.     Virginia  laughed. 

"You're  the  only  friend  I  want  to-day,  Pedro," 
she  said,  her  arms  around  his  neck,  "you  and  a  big 
Something  in  my  heart.  I  wanted  to  come  away 
off  up  here  alone  with  you.  That's  why  I  hurried 
you  so,  poor  dear!  I  wanted  to  hear  the  stillness 
all  around,  and  to  look  at  the  mountains.  I  wanted 
to  think  about  it,  and  to  wonder  if,  some  day,  after 
I've  learned  more  things,  it  will  come  to  me,  too!" 

Impulsively  she  turned  in  her  saddle  and  looked 
down  the  foot-hills.  Some  one  was  fording  the 
creek.  She  knew  it  even  before  she  heard  the  splash 
of  water.  As  she  watched,  two  riders  left  the 
ford,  and  turned  north  up  the  canyon  trail.  They1 

*?' 

were  Malcolm  and  Aunt  Nan.    Virginia  turned  back 
toward  the  mountains,  and  sat  very  still. 

"Pedro,"  she  said  at  last,  her  voice  breaking,  "I 
guess  perhaps  we'd  better  go  home,  don't  you? 
Aunt  Nan  and  Malcolm  have  found  their  trail,  you 
see.  They  don't  need  us  just  now.  No,  I'm  not 
sorry!  I'm  glad!  I  just  know  it's  the  most  won- 
derful thing  in  all  the  world!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   NEW   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   BEAR   CANYO'N 

"YES,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Samuel  Wilson,  stretching 
his  boot-clad  legs  to  their  fullest  extent,  and  twirling 
his  thumbs  thoughtfully,  "yes,  sir,  we've  got  to  have 
a  teacher  up  in  Bear  Canyon.  There  ain't  a  bit 
o'  use  in  waitin'  a  week  for  that  teacher  from  Sheri- 
dan. Come  December,  there'll  be  snow,  and  school 
not  out.  Accordin'  to  my  judgment,  and  I'm  the 
chief  trustee  o'  this  district,  it's  best  to  get  some 
one  to  teach  a  week  until  the  one  we've  hired  gets 
here.  I  stopped  at  Ben  Jarvis'  place  on  my  way 
down  here,  and  he  agreed  with  me.  Says  he,  'Sam, 
there'd  ought  to  be  one  out  o'  that  crowd  o'  ladies 
over  to  Hunter's  who  could  keep  school  a  week. 
They're  all  raised  around  Boston,  folks  tell  me. 
Now  you  go  along  over, 'and  see.'  And  I  said  I 
would.  What  do  you  think,  John?  Ain't  there  a 
likely  one  among  'em?  If  Virginia  didn't  know  the 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    203 

children  so  well,  I'd  be  for  choosin'  her.  But  a 
stranger's  what  we  want.  That  school  seems  to  need 
a  stranger  'bout  every  term." 

"That's  just  the  difficulty,"  said  Mr.  Hunter.  "It 
is  a  hard  school,  and  these  girls  aren't  used  to 
schools  out  here.  The  girl  I  am  thinking  of  is 
Mary  Williams,  but  she's  young — only  eighteen.  I 
shouldn't  even  consider  her  if  she  hadn't  said  the 
other  day  that  she'd  like  to  try  teaching  in  that 
little  school-house  up  the  canyon.  Of  course 
'twould  be  only  for  a  week.  They're  going  back 
East  in  a  little  more  than  two." 

"Her  age  ain't  nothin'  against  her,"  reassured 
Mr.  Wilson.  "Remember  Eben  Judd's  girl  who 
kept  the  school  last  spring  ?  She  was  only  seventeen, 
and  she  could  thrash  the  biggest  boy  there!  Sup- 
posin'  you  let  me  talk  with  this  girl  if  she's  around. 
Seems  to  me  twenty  dollars  a  week  is  mighty  easy 
money  for  just  keepin'  school  and  givin'  out  things 
you've  got  in  your  head  a'ready !" 

Mr.  Hunter,  half-sorry  that  he  had  even  consid- 
ered the  matter,  went  in  search  of  Mary,  while  Mr. 
Samuel  Wilson  stretched  his  legs  even  farther 


204     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

across  the  floor,  re-lit  his  old  corn-cob  pipe,  and 
settled  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair.  He 
did  not  rise  when  Mary,  forewarned  but  very 
eager,  came  into  the  room  a  few  minutes  later, 
but'  he  did  remove  his  pipe.  Then  he  stated  his 
errand,  while  Mary,  feeling  very  professional,  lis- 
tened with  the  deference  due  .Mr.  Wilson's  position 
as  chief  trustee  of  the  Bear  Canyon  District. 

"What  we  want,"  concluded  the  chiet  trustee,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand,  after  he  had  explained  all  the 
difficulties  and  expatiated  on  all  the  joys  of  the 
Bear  Canyon  school,  "what  we  want  is  a  teacher 
who  can  start  things  right.  A  heap  depends  on 
the  startin'  things  have  in  this  world,  I've  noticed. 
Now  you  look  like  a  spunky  young  lady.  Ain't 
afraid  o'  big  boys,  are  you?" 

Mary,  with  the  memory  of  Eben  Judd's  daughter 
and  the  biggest  boy  fresh  in  her  mind,  hesitated. 
Bear  Canyon  might  offer  problems  too  big  for  her 
inexperienced  hands.  Then  she  summoned  an  ex- 
tra amount  of  dignity. 

"It  surely  isn't  necessary  to  thrash  them,  Mr.  Wil- 
son, if  you  can  get  along  with  them  some  other 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    205 

way.  No,  I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  them.  Are 
there  many  big  ones  ?" 

Mr.  Wilson  considered  for  a  moment.  No,  there 
were  not  many.  Ben  Jarvis'  big  boy  Allan  was  the 
worst,  and  even  he  wasn't  bad  if  he  had  enough 
to  do.  The  trouble  was  he  led  all  the  others,  and 
if  he  once  got  "contrary,"  trouble  arose.  Mary 
inwardly  resolved  that  he  should  not  get  "contrary." 

"Now  up  here  in  Bear  Canyon,"  Mr.  Wilson 
further  remarked,  "we're  strong  on  figurin'.  How 
are  you  on  arithmetic?" 

Mary's  heart  fell.  Dismal  visions  of  cube  root 
and  compound  proportion  came  to  torment  her. 
Her  ship,  sailing  smoothly  but  a  moment  since,  had 
apparently  struck  a  reef.  Then  a  never-failing 
imagination  came  to  her  rescue.  She  saw  Pris- 
cilla  solving  her  problems  in  the  evening  at  the 
table. 

"Arithmetic  isn't  exactly  my  specialty,  Mr.  Wil- 
son," she  said  brightly.  "That  is,  I  don't  love  it 
as  I  do  other  studies;  but  I  assure  you  I  shall  be 
quite  able  to  teach  it." 

The  chief  trustee  rose  from  his  seat,  knocked  the 


206     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ashes  from  his  pipe  into  the  fire-place,  and  took  his 
hat. 

"I  guess  you're  hired  for  the  week,  then,"  said  he, 
"at  twenty  dollars.  I'll  stop  in  at  Ben  Jarvis'  on 
my  way  home  and  tell  him.  School  begins  Mon- 
day morning  at  nine.  I  may  drop  in  myself  durin' 
the  week  to  see  how  things  is  goin'.  Good- 
mornin'." 

Mary  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  curious  voices  which  called  her 
from  the  porch.  She  saw  the  chief  trustee  ride 
past  the  window  on  his  way  to  tell  Ben  Jarvis  that 
she  was  elected.  She  pictured  the  incorrigible  Allan 
Jarvis  spending  the  Sabbath  in  the  invention  of  mis- 
chief. It  had  come  too  suddenly.  She  could  not 
realize  that  she  was  actually  a  Wyomirg1  school- 
teacher. Now  the  time  which  she  had  thought  to 
be  four  years'  distant  had  come — the  time  to  begin 
to  realize  the  ideals  she  had  shaped  for  herself 
upon  the  teaching  and  the  personality  of  her  adored 
Miss  Wallace. 

The  voices  on  the  porch  became  more  curious, 
and  Mary,  at  last  coming  to  herself,  hurried  out 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    207 

to  tell  the  wonderful  news.  She  found  the  Vigi- 
lantes and  Aunt  Nan  as  interested  as  she  herself, 
and  willing  to  sacrifice  her  company  for  five  days 
for  the  sake  of  Bear  Canyon's  rising  generation. 
Priscilla  offered  all  the  proficiency  in  arithmetic 
she  possessed ;  Aunt  Nan  hurried  indoors  to  cut  and 
make  two  aprons  for  the  teacher;  and  Vivian  and 
Virginia  went  in  search  of  pencils  and  paper.  This 
was  Saturday  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 

On  Monday  morning  at  eight  they  all  stood  be- 
neath the  cottonwoods  to  watch  a  wide-eyed  and 
much  excited  school-teacher  start  for  Bear  Canyon. 
In  a  bag  which  she  hung  on  the  saddle-horn  were 
her  pencils,  papers,  and  new  apron;  in  a  pack- 
age strapped  to  the  saddle  was  her  lunch,  packed 
by  Hannah's  interested  hands;  and  in  her  heart 
were  excitement,  misgivings,  and  eagerness.  She 
preferred  to  go  alone,  she  said,  as  she  mounted 
into  the  saddle.  They  might  ride  up  at  four,  and 
come  home  with  her  if  they  liked,  but  she  must 
go  alone. 

They  did  go  up  that  afternoon  at  four — Vivian, 
Priscilla,  and  Virginia.  As  they  swung  around  a 


208     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

bend  in  the  road,  and  came  upon  the  little  school- 
house,  they  were  surprised  at  the  stillness.  Where 
was  everybody?  The  children  had  not  gone  home 
— that  was  certain — for  half  a  dozen  horses  were 
picketed  round  about.  Had  the  school  adjourned 
and  gone  for  a  picnic  in  the  woods?  That  would 
not  be  unlike  the  new  teacher,  but  it  would  be  very 
unlike  the  former  traditions  of  the  Bear  Canyon 
school.  No  sound  came  from  within  and  it  was 
long  past  four.  Had  the  big  Jarvis  boy  triumphed 
after  all,  and  made  Mary  a  prisoner? 

After  five  minutes  of  patient,  puzzled  waiting 
they  added  their  horses  to  those  already  grazing 
among  the  sagebrush,  and  stole  quietly  to  the  open 
window.  The  new  teacher  sat  in  the  middle  of 
the  battered,  scarred,  ugly  little  room.  She  held 
her  two  youngest  children  upon  her  lap  much  to 
the  detriment  of  her  new  apron.  A  dirty  eager 
face  was  raised  to  hers  from  either  side  of  her 
chair.  The  others  of  her  twenty  charges  sat  as 
near  as  the  seats  would  permit.  The  big  Jarvis 
boy  had  not  deigned  to  move  toward  the  front — that 
was  too  much  of  a  concession  for  the  first  day — but 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    200 

he  was  leaning  forward  in  his  seat,  his  big,  shaggy, 
unkempt  head  resting  in  his  folded  arms,  his  eyes 
never  leaving  Mary's  face.  She  was  telling  them 
the  story  of  the  Dog  of  Flanders.  The  Vigilantes, 
crouching  beneath  the  window,  heard  her  as  she 
finished. 

"The  next  day,"  she  said,  "they  came  to  the  great 
cathedral,  and  found  Nello  and  Patrasche  dead  upon 
the  stone  floor.  People  were  sorry  then.  Alois' 
father  was  one  who  came.  He  realized  how  cruel 
he  had  been  to  Nello,  and  was  ready  now  to  help 
him.  But  it  was  too  late.  Little  Alois  came  also. 
She  begged  Nello  to  wake  and  come  home  for  the 
Christmas  festivities,  and  cried  when  she  saw  that 
he  could  not.  Then  a  great  artist  came.  He  had 
seen  Nello' s  picture  of  the  old  man  on  the  fallen 
tree,  and  he  knew  that  some  day  Nello  might  be- 
come a  wonderful  painter,  even  though  another 
had  won  the  Antwerp  prize.  He  wanted  to  take 
Nello  away  with  him,  he  said,  and  teach  him  art. 
But  he,  also,  was  too  late,  for  Nello  and  Patrasche 
had  gone  away  together  to  a  Kinder  Country.  All 
their  lives  they  had  not  been  separated,  and  so 


•210     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  people  of  their  little  village,  sorry  and  ashamed, 
made  them  one  grave  and  laid  them  to  rest 
together." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  Bear  Canyon  school- 
house  until  a  little  girl  in  a  pink  apron  sobbed. 
Sobs  were  at  a  discount  in  Bear  Canyon,  and  yet 
strangely  enough  no  one  laughed.  Allan  Jarvis, 
in  the  back  seat,  was  intent  upon  his  finger-nails. 
The  others  were  gazing  admiringly  at  their  new 
teacher. 

"It's  such  a  sad  story,"  said  the  little  girl,  using 
her  pink  apron  for  a  handkerchief,  "but  I  like  it 
all  the  same." 

"Deary  me!"  cried  the  new  teacher,  depositing 
the  two  littlest  ones  on  the  floor,  "it's  half-past 
four !  We  must  close  school  at  once !" 

At  that  the  big  Jarvis  boy  left  his  seat  and  came 
down  the  aisle,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  ab- 
staining from  pulling  the  hair  of  the  girls  nearest 
him. 

"Shan't  I  get  your  horse  ready  for  you,  ma'am  ?" 
he  asked. 

The  new  teacher  smiled  gratefully  upon  him. 


New  School- Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    21 1 

"If  you  please,  Allan,"  she  said.  "I'll  be  ever 
so  much  obliged."  And  Allan  Jarvis  departed  for 
the  horse  sheds — a  conquered  hero! 

Mary,  tired  but  enthusiastic,  told  them  all  about 
it  as  they  rode  home  together,  followed  at  a  re- 
spectful distance  by  a  dinner-pail  laden  throng. 
How  she  had  arrived  that  morning  to  find  Allan 
Jarvis  the  center  of  a  mischief -bent  circle ;  how  she 
had  begun  the  day  by  the  most  exciting  shipwreck 
story  she  knew;  and  how  the  promise  of  another 
story  before  four  o'clock  had  worked  a  miracle. 
They  were  starved  for  stories,  she  said.  She 
thought  they  needed  them  more  than  arithmetic. 

"Besides,"  she  added,  "probably  the  Sheridan  per- 
son knows  all  about  figures.  I'm  going  to  put  all 
the  arithmetic  classes  the  last  thing  in  the  after- 
noon, and  if  we  don't  get  around  to  them,  why  all 
right.  It's  unfortunate,  of  course,  but  it  can't  be 
helped." 

One  day  was  quite  sufficient  to  establish  the  name 
and  the  fame  of  the  Bear  Canyon  school-teacher. 
Around  every  supper-table  circled  tales  of  her  wis- 
dom, her  beauty,  her  strange  way  of  speaking,  and 


212     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

her  general  superiority  over  any  teacher  Bear  Can- 
yon had  ever  hired.  Her  ability  to  tell  stories  was 
lauded  to  the  skies,  and  her  genius  at  making  six 
hitherto  mercilessly  long  hours  seem  like  three  mar- 
velously  short  ones  was  freely  advertised.  History 
under  this  new  teacher  had  become  something  more 
than  a  dog-eared  text-book;  geography  more  than 
stained  and  torn  wall-maps;  reading  more  than  a 
torturesome  process  of  making  sounds.  They 
proudly  told  their  parents  what  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  had  looked  like  when  their 
teacher  had  last  seen  it;  the  size  and  shape  of 
Plymouth  Rock  as  recorded  by  her  during  her  last 
visit  there.  They  re-told  her  stories  one  by  one 
to  the  children  at  home,  too  young  for  school. 
Allan  Jarvis  did  his  part.  He  told  his  father  he 
would  go  to  school  without  a  word,  if  the  new 
teacher  could  be  persuaded  to  stay  in  Bear  Canyon. 
Because  of  this  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  left  his  work 
the  third  day,  put  on  a  clean  shirt,  and  visited  the 
school  himself.  Mr.  Samuel  Wilson  joined  him, 
as  did  the  third  trustee  from  farther  up  the  can- 
yon. When  these  three  gentlemen  entered,  the  old- 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    213 

est  History  class  was  engaged  in  reproducing  the 
trial  of  Nathan  Hale,  the  leading  man  in  the  cast 
being  the  big  Jarvis  boy.  It  was  a  novel  method 
of  teaching  history,  the  trustees  said  to  themselves, 
remembering  the  barren  instruction  they  had  re- 
ceived, but  it  seemed  effectual.  That  night  they 
offered  the  new  teacher  a  permanent  job  in  Bear 
Canyon.  The  teacher  in  Sheridan  was  not  over- 
anxious to  come,  they  said,  and  the  position  was 
Mary's  if  she  cared  to  accept  it. 

But  Mary  was  going  to  college,  she  explained  to 
the  disappointed  trustees.  Perhaps,  some  day,  she 
would  come  back — some  day  when  she  had  learned 
more  about  teaching.  As  it  was,  Friday  night  must 
end  her  labors,  grateful  as  she  was,  and  happy  as 
she  felt  over  the  reception  Bear  Canyon  had  given 
her. 

It  came  all  too  soon — Friday  night.  The  chil- 
dren stood  in  a  disconsolate  little  group  to  bid  her 
good-by.  They  knew  Bear  Canyon  teachers  of  old. 
There  would  be  no  more  stories,  no  more  circuses 
at  recess,  no  more  flower  hunts  in  the  woods,  no 
more  plays.  School  now  would  become  just  a  weary 


214     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

succession  of  days — all  pointing  toward  Saturday. 
Figures  would  take  the  place  of  reading,  and  the 
Rhine  would  again  be  just  a  crooked,  black  line, 
not  a  river  surmounted  by  frowning  castles  and 
golden  with  legends. 

The  little  girl  in  the  pink  apron  again  used  it  as 
a  handkerchief  as  Mary  rode  down  the  trail. 

"I — I'd  go  to  school  all  my  life — with  her!"  she 
said  loyally. 

The  school-teacher  halted  at  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Benjamin  Jarvis,  second  trustee.  He  it  was  who 
was  to  sign  the  check  for  her  services,  give  to  her 
the  very  first  money  she  had  ever  earned.  He  was 
waiting  for  her,  the  check  in  his  hand. 

"I — I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said 
Mary,  "especially  since  you're  strong  on  figures  in 
Bear  Canyon,  that  I  haven't  taught  many  this  week. 
I'm  afraid  I'm  very  weak  on  system.  That  will 
be  one  of  the  things  I'll  have  to  learn  in  college, 
I  guess.  The  days  have  gone  so  fast  I  just  haven't 
seemed  to  have  time  to  get  them  in.  And — and  to 
tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Jarvis,  I'm  not  very  strong  on 
figures  myself." 


HE    CAME    UP    TO    HER,    A    BROWN    PAPER    PARCEL    IN    HIS 


New  School-Teacher  in  Bear  Canyon    215 

"Figures !"  said  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  as  he  shook 
hands  with  her.  "I  guess  you've  given  that  boy 
o'  mine  somethin'  better'n  figures,  God  bless  you !" 

The  boy  himself  came  around  the  house  just  as 
Mary  was  mounting  her  horse  to  ride  away.  He 
had  left  school  before  the  others,  and  had  said  no 
good-by.  Now  he  came  up  to  her,  a  brown  paper 
parcel  in  his  hand. 

"It's  a  rattle-snake  skin  I  fixed  for  you,"  he  said 
shyly.  "You  said  you  liked  'em  once.  And  the 
heavy  thing  in  the  end's  my  jack-knife.  I  carved 
your  letters  on  the  handle.  I  thought  it  might  come 
in  handy  when  you  went  to  college." 


CHAPTER  XV 

MR.   BENJAMIN  JARVIS  ENTERTAINS 

BEAR  CANYON  did  not  forget  Mary.  A  score  of 
heart-broken  children  was  proof  against  such  ob- 
livion. Moreover,  hope  began  to  dawn  in  the  hearts 
beneath  pink  gingham  and  outing  flannel -when  the 
teacher  from  Sheridan,  discouraged  perhaps  by  a 
total  lack  of  cordiality  in  her  students,  resigned 
after  two  lugubrious  days  of  service.  Then  Mr. 
Samuel  Wilson,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Jar- 
vis  and  the  third  trustee  rode  in  a  body  to  the 
Hunter  ranch,  and  offered  Mary  a  substantial 
"raise"  if  she  would  only  stay  on  until  December, 
and  finish  the  fall  term  so  triumphantly  begun. 

The  memories  of  the  little  girl  in  the  pink  apron, 
together  with  the  pleas  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  on 
behalf  of  Allan,  and  the  assurance  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Wilson  that  his  children  had  cried  "five  nights  run- 
nin'  "  was  almost  too  much  for  Mary.  In  one  mad 

216 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    217 

wave  of  sympathy  she  determined  to  give  up  col- 
lege and  to  wire  her  mother  that  the  Path  of  Duty 
for  her  led  unmistakably  to  the  Bear  Canyon  school. 
But  the  more  mature  judgment  of  Mr.  Hunter  and 
Aunt  Nan  prevailed,  and  an  hour  later  three  very 
reluctant  trustees  rode  away,  leaving  behind  them 
a  sad,  but  much  relieved,  school-teacher,  who  lay 
long  awake  that  night  and  pondered  over  the  des- 
perate state  of  affairs  in  Bear  Canyon. 

But  her  worry,  like  most  that  encumbers  the 
world,  was  needless,  for  the  County  Superintendent 
over  at  Elk  Creek  lent  a  helping  hand,  and  sent  Miss 
Martha  Bumps  to  Bear  Canyon.  Now  Miss  Bumps 
was  not  Mary,  but  she  was  assuredly  Miss  Martha 
Bumps,  and  the  three  trustees,  disappointed  as  they 
were  not  to  have  Mary,  held  their  heads  a  trifle 
higher  as  they  drove  to  town.  For  the  aforesaid 
Miss  Bumps  was  a  character  of  renown  throughout 
the  county,  and  it  was  only  because  of  the  whooping- 
cough  in  the  consolidated  rural  schools  of  Willow 
Creek  that  she  was  prompted  to  forsake  her  larger 
field  and  hurry  to  the  aid  of  Bear  Canyon. 

For  twenty-five  years  Miss  Martha  Bumps  had 


218     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

dedicated  her  energies  to  the  teaching  of  Wyoming 
country  schools.  Some  who  knew  her  well  affirmed 
that  she  had  made  money  thereby;  and  this  state- 
ment will  doubtless  be  given  credence  by  all  who 
are  not  themselves  school-teachers.  After  relin- 
quishing the  dreams  in  which  most  women  of  thirty 
indulge,  and  deciding  once  and  for  all  that  she  would 
give  the  best  of  her  life  to  teaching,  she  had  spent 
much  thought  and  ingenuity  in  scheming  how  such 
a  vocation  could  be  a  distinctly  pleasurable  one. 
Ten  years  of  boarding  in  homesteaders'  cabins,  of 
sleeping  with  the  youngest  child,  and  eating  salt  pork 
three  times  a  day,  of  drinking  condensed  milk  on 
ranches  devoted  solely  to  cattle,  and  of  riding  miles 
to  her  place  of  business  in  all  kinds  of  weather — 
these  experiences  had  been  fruitful  in  the  extreme. 
Now  she  boarded  nowhere.  Instead,  she  lived  in 
her  own  two-room  house,  which,  clapboarded,  shin- 
gled, windowed  and  doored  after  the  manner  of  all 
houses,  was  mounted  upon  four  stout  cart-wheels, 
and  driven  by  an  obliging  trustee  of  one  district 
to  the  next  chosen  field  whenever  Miss  Bumps  de- 
cided that  the  time  had  come  to  make  a  change. 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    219 

Arriving  at  her  destination,  the  house  was  drawn 
to  the  best  site  near  the  school,  the  horses  were 
unhitched,  and  the  trustee,  riding  and  leading, 
started  homeward,  leaving  Miss  Bumps  to  begin 
her  double  labors  in  her  new  situation. 

Now,  although  this  rather  unusual  mode  of  liv- 
ing on  wheels  had  attracted  much  attention  and 
comment,  it  must  be  conceded  (and  will  by  all 
country  school-teachers)  that  it  was  decidedly  su- 
perior to  boarding.  In  her  small  but  spotless 
kitchen,  Miss  Bumps  cooked  the  food  which  no 
homesteader's  cabin  afforded,  and  at  night  slept 
luxuriously  in  her  own  comfortable  bed  which 
nearly  filled  her  other  room.  All  day  she  gave  her- 
self untiringly  to  her  profession.  In  the  evenings 
she  sat  by  her  small  air-tight  stove,  read,  and 
tatted ! 

To  this  last-named  accomplishment  Miss  Bumps 
had  dedicated  fifteen  years  of  practice  until  expert 
proficiency  had  made  eyes  unnecessary.  She  tatted 
while  she  read,  tatted  while  she  taught,  tatted  while 
she  watched  the  potatoes  boiling  for  dinner.  Some 
even  asserted  that  they  had  seen  her  tat  on  horse- 


220     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

back  with  all  the  diligence  attributed  to  Bertha, 
the  beautiful  queen  of  old  Helvetia,  who  spun  from 
a  distaff  fastened  to  the  saddle  of  her  betasseled 
palfrey. 

But  even  such  a  curiosity  as  Miss  Bumps  may 
have  been  in  the  early  days  of  her  portable  resi- 
dence and  ever-present  tatting  grows  ordinary  when 
besieged  by  Time,  and  Wyoming  no  longer  re- 
garded her  as  a  phenomenon.  She  was  just  plain 
Martha  Bumps,  to  whom  many  a  rural  community 
owed  much.  Nevertheless,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
her  singular  customs  of  living  were  considered  most 
eccentric  by  strangers  who  often  laughed  long  and 
uproariously  at  the  portable  house.  Three  amused 
Vigilantes  found  in  her  the  best  theme  material 
imaginable,  and  on  the  day  when  Mr.  Crusoe  re- 
ported having  passed  her  house  and  her  on  the 
road  from  Elk  Creek,  they  hastened  with  their 
hostess  to  the  mail-box,  ostensibly  to  await  the  post- 
man, but  really  to  see  Miss  Martha  Bumps  pass  by. 

They  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  The  Willow 
Creek  trustee  had  used  his  best  team  of  horses  in 
the  transportation,  and  Miss  Bumps'  entry  into  Bear 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    221 

Canyon  was  a  triumphal  one.  At  a  brisk  trot  and 
in  a  cloud  of  dust,  the  equipage  came  down  the  easy 
grade  toward  the  mail-box  and  the  four  interested 
Vigilantes,  who,  throwing  aside  all  ostentation, 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  stared.  They  saw  a  little, 
blue-ginghamed  woman  under  a  huge  peanut-straw 
hat,  who  sat  in  her  own  front  doorway  beside  a 
substantial  trustee  and  tatted  while  her  interested 
eyes  scanned  her  chosen  country.  Spying  the  four 
wayside  spectators  and  doubtless  mistaking  them 
for  members  of  her  future  flock,  she  smiled  from 
behind  a  pair  of  gold-bowed  spectacles,  and  waved 
a  welcoming  tatting-shuttle. 

"She  thinks  I'm  one  of  the  children,"  said  the 
former  Bear  Canyon  school-mistress.  "She  doesn't 
recognize  me  as  a  professional  friend.  But  I'm 
going  to  call  upon  her  to-morrow  if  it's  the  last 
thing  I  do  while  I'm  in  Wyoming.  Maybe,  since 
I  know  the  Bear  Canyon  school,  I'll  even  dare  give 
her  some  suggestions.  I'm  so  anxious  she  should 
understand  Allan." 

But  Mary's  call  was  never  made,  for  an  hour  later 
Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  rode  in  to  announce  with  an 


222     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

air  of  mystery  a  barn-warming  in  his  new  building 
for  that  very  evening. 

"It's  short  notice,"  he  explained  to  those  who 
had  met  his  invitation  with  instantaneous  and  de- 
lighted acceptance,  "it's  short  notice,  but,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  there  ain't  much  time  left.  You 
ladies  go  back  East  in  less  than  a  week,  and  the 
threshers  may  come  any  day,  so  I  says  to  Allan  this 
mornin'  that  seein'  the  floor  was  laid  we  hadn't 
better  wait  to  get  the  windows  in  nor  any  finishin' 
touches.  It  will  be  a  farewell  party  from  Bear 
Canyon  to  you,  Miss  Mary,  and  a  welcomin'  one 
to  the  new  teacher.  I  just  rode  past  the  school- 
house  to  see  how  she  felt  about  to-night  before  in- 
vitin'  the  others.  She's  all  set  up  an'  settled  in  the 
pine  grove  next  the  school,  ain't  tired  a  mite,  and 
says  there's  nothing  like  a  neighborhood  party  to 
get  a  person  acquainted." 

Mary  repeated  her  appreciation  as  the  second 
trustee,  having  announced  the  time  of  assembling 
and  probable  other  guests,  turned  his  horse's  head 
homeward.  Nor  were  the  others  slow  to  voice  their 
own.  Virginia  was  radiant.  A  real  Wyoming  barn- 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    223 

warming,  she  told  Mr.  Jarvis,  seemed  the  final  joy 
in  their  collection  of  summer  treasures,  and  she 
could  not  be  grateful  enough  for  his  hospitality 
toward  her  guests. 

Everybody  for  miles  around  would  be  there,  she 
announced  that  evening  as  they  hurried  from  sup- 
per to  dress.  All  the  people  in  the  Canyon  and  the 
Valley,  and  even  the  forest  rangers  from  Sage- 
brush Point  and  Cinnamon  Creek.  It  would  not  be 
much  like  a  Gordon  dance  or  one  at  St.  Helen's, 
but  she  knew  they  would  enjoy  it.  Yes,  she  said 
in  response  to  Priscilla's  questions,  it  might  really 
be  quite  like  the  one  in  The  Virginian  where  they 
had  swapped  the  babies. 

Vivian,  who  had  been  burrowing  in  her  closet 
for  a  stray  blue  satin  slipper  to  match  the  gown 
spread  upon  her  bed,  was  surprised  a  few  moments 
later  to  see  Virginia's  dismayed  face. 

"Oh,  Vivian,  dear,"  she  cried,  "I  thought  you'd 
understand  about  dressing.  You  really  can't  wear 
that,  you  know.  Why,  nobody  will  be  dressed  up 
like  that!  It's  for  everybody,  you  see — Dick  and 
Mr.  Crusoe  and  William  and  the  men  at  Keiths'. 


224     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

They'll  all  come  in  flannel  shirts  and  chaps,  and 
they'd  all  feel  so  queer  and  awkward  if  we  dressed 
as  we  would  at  school.  A  clean  middy  is  what  you 
want.  I'm  going  to  wear  that.  You  see,  it's  so 
different  out  here,  Vivian." 

It  certainly  was  different  out  there,  Vivian  said 
to  herself  a  little  petulantly  as  she  hung  up  the 
blue  dress,  and  selected  a  fresh  middy  and  some 
lighter  shoes.  Would  she  be  expected  to  dance 
with  the  Bear  Canyon  forest  ranger  and  his  brethren 
from  Cinnamon  Creek  and  Sagebrush  Point — with 
Dick  and  William  and  Mr.  Crusoe?  They  were  pic- 
turesque, and  she  would  enjoy  describing  them  as 
characteristic  of  the  West  when  she  returned  home, 
but  as  for  dancing  with  them,  that — she  was  care- 
ful not  to  admit  to  the  others — was  quite  another 
matter. 

By  seven  they  were  off,  Mr.  Crusoe  being  the 
proud  driver  of  the  large  rig,  and  the  other  men 
following  on  horseback.  The  Keith  family  with 
Carver  and  Jack  joined  them  at  the  main  road,  and 
all  together  they  journeyed  up  Bear  Canyon  which 
was  populated  beyond  its  wont  with  pedestrians 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    225 

and  equestrians,  all  bound  for  the  barn-warming  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis. 

Virginia's  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Everybody 
was  there!  Not  a  family  in  the  Valley  or  Canyon 
had  missed  this  opportunity.  Babies,  securely  bun- 
dled against  the  night  air,  slumbered  on  fresh  hay 
in  the  unused  bins,  and  allowed  their  tired  parents 
a  few  moments  to  greet  their  neighbors.  Love  for 
their  old  teacher,  and  interest  in  their  new,  divided 
the  hearts  of  every  child  but  two  in  the  Bear  Can- 
yon school,  those  of  the  little  girl  in  the  pink  apron 
and  Allan  Jarvis  being  immovably  anchored.  The 
rangers  from  Bear  Canyon  and  Sagebrush,  together  . 
with  a  bran-new  man  from  Cinnamon  Creek,  were 
among  the  guests,  and  two  cow  boys  from  the  great 
Biering  ranch  westward  had,  at  the  invitation  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis,  driven  their  bunch  of  cattle 
into  his  corral,  made  camp  on  the  nearby  hillside, 
and  stayed  for  the  celebration. 

The  two  guests  of  honor  were  escorted  to  seats 
on  the  center  platform,  expressly  built  for  Mr.  Sam" 
uel  Wilson's  phonograph,  which  by  elevation,  it  was 
believed,  would  furnish  sufficient  volume  for  danc- 


226     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ing.  In  the  few  intervals  between  the  quickly  suc- 
ceeding introductions,  Bear  Canyon's  two  school- 
mistresses began  their  acquaintanceship,  and  Mary 
found  herself  strangely  fascinated  by  plain  Miss 
Martha  Bumps.  A  critical  analysis  failed  to  war- 
rant the  fascination.  Certainly  Miss  Bumps'  ap- 
pearance was  not  engrossing.  To  her,  clothes  were 
an  economical  and  a  social  necessity.  She  wore  her 
traveling  gown  of  faded  blue  gingham,  which  of 
itself  was  inconspicuous,  had  it  not  been  for  two 
pockets  of  newer  material  on  either  side  of  the 
front.  These  proofs  of  unheeded  Scriptural  warn- 
ing, being  far  different  in  size,  gave  the  entire  gar- 
ment a  sinister,  cross-eyed  effect,  which  did  not  fail 
to  catch  the  eye  of  the  most  casual  observer.  After 
a  surreptitious  examination  of  the  aforesaid  pock- 
ets, Mary  discovered  that  one  was  occupied  by  Miss 
Bumps'  ample  handkerchief,  and  the  other  by  her 
tatting. 

Nor  was  there  anything  extraordinary  in  the 
features  of  her  successor.  Ordinary  gray  hair 
was  parted  most  punctiliously  upon  a  most  ordinary 
forehead.  Her  eyes  were  the  usual  blue,  and  her 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    227 

nose  a  trifle  better  shaped  than  the  average.  In 
vain  Mary  searched  for  the  hiding-place  of  the  fas- 
cination which  years  afterward  she  was  to  under- 
stand— that  fascination  which  is  born  of  noblest 
enthusiasm  and  a  passion  for  service,  and  which 
can  transform  all  the  Valleys  of  Baca  in  the  wide 
world. 

Priscilla  stood  with  Virginia  and  Donald,  and 
with  eyes  full  of  eagerness  watched  the  gathering 
of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis'  guests.  She  longed  for 
Miss  King  and  Miss  Wallace  and  Dorothy  and  the 
Blackmore  Twins — yes,  she  even  longed  for  her 
mother,  in  spite  of  her  apprehension  lest  her  Bos- 
tonian  mother  might  not  strictly  appreciate  this 
Wyoming  barn-warming  and  the  cosmopolitan  so- 
ciety attendant  thereupon.  She  wanted  them  all  to 
feel  as  six  weeks  ago  she  had  felt  that  indescribable 
first  thrill  at  the  sight  of  chaps  and  lariats  and 
fully-equipped  cow  boys.  She  wanted  them  all  to 
realize  that  here  in  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis'  new  barn 
was  a  true  democracy  of  comradeship — a  comrade- 
ship freed  from  the  obnoxious  fetters  of  ball-room 
etiquette. 


228     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

It  was  the  interest  sparkling  in  her  brown  eyes 
which  made  the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger  out- 
distance Carver  Standish  III  in  his  haste  to  ask 
her  for  the  grand  march.  Carver,  in  white  trousers 
and  an  air  a  little  too  pronounced  to  be  termed  self- 
possession,  was  leisurely  crossing  the  floor  toward 
her  when  his  chap-clad  rival  of  Cinnamon  Creek 
slid  past  him  unceremoniously  and  reached  Pris- 
cilla  first.  Even  then  Carver  could  not  believe  she 
would  choose  a  forest  ranger  in  place  of  him;  and 
his  anger  was  by  no  means  cooled  when  he  heard 
her  say  as  though  in  answer  to  an  apology : 

"Oh,  but  you  see  I  can  dance  with  Carver  any 
day,  and  I've  never  danced  with  a  forest  ranger  in 
my  life.  I  was  just  hoping  you'd  ask  me  when 
you  came!" 

Baffled,  Carver  sought  Vivian  in  the  corner 
whence  he  had  come.  Weak  as  Vivian  was  at 
times,  he  said  to  himself,  in  the  matter  of  asso- 
ciates she  showed  better  judgment  than  some  other 
girls  he  might  name.  Vivian  did  not  turn  him 
down.  Secretly  she  was  devoutly  thankful  he  had 
rescued  her  from  a  persistent  Biering  cow  boy  to 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    229 

whom  she  had  not  been  introduced,  and  with  whom, 
had  an  introduction  been  procured,  she  did  not  care 
to  dance.  Before  Carver  had  come,  she  had 
watched  Mary  talking  with  that  freakish  Miss 
Bumps,  Priscilla  chatting  with  a  dozen  different 
ranchmen,  cow  boys,  and  Bear  Canyon  children,  and 
Virginia  attending  to  the  needs  of  a  fretful  baby 
while  its  mother  went  cookie-hunting  to  the  fam- 
ily rig. 

In  her  heart  of  hearts  Vivian  envied  them  all. 
Inwardly  she  longed  to  be  one  with  whom  all  oth- 
ers felt  at  ease;  but  outwardly  it  was  far  easier 
to  echo  Carver's  vindictive  mood,  and  agree  with 
him,  as  they  went  to  take  their  places  in  the  ever- 
lengthening  line,  that  never  in  her  life  had  she  seen 
such  people. 

Mr.  Samuel  Wilson  with  Miss  Bumps  as  a  part- 
ner and  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  with  Mary  led  the 
march,  which  three  times  made  the  circle  of  the 
new  barn  before  breaking  into  an  hilarious  two- 
step.  Mr.  Samuel  Wilson's  phonograph  groaned 
and  wheezed  bravely  from  its  platform ;  three  great 
bon-fires  outside  made  the  great  barn  glow  with 


230     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

light ;  the  babies  in  the  straw-filled  bins  slumbered  on, 
while  their  fathers  and  mothers  grew  young  again. 

Carver,  scorning  a  two-step,  was  teaching  Vivian 
a  new  dance  introduced  at  Gordon  the  winter  be- 
fore. Pretty  as  it  was,  it  was  strangely  inappropri- 
ate in  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis'  barn,  and  served  to 
separate  Carver  and  Vivian  still  farther  from  their 
fellow  guests.  The  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger 
watched  them  until  the  straight  line  between  his 
eyebrows  grew  deeper  and  deeper.  Then  he  left 
Miss  Martha  Bumps  with  the  excuse  of  bringing 
her  a  glass  of  cider,  and  started  across  the  floor. 
It  was  too  bad,  he  was  thinking  to  himself,  for  a 
likeable  chap  like  that  young  Standish  to  get  in  bad. 
A  good-natured  word  might  give  him  a  hint,  and 
no  one  be  the  wiser. 

Carver  and  Vivian  did  not  notice  his  approach. 
They  were  resting  from  their  dance,  and  talking  to- 
gether in  tones  low  yet  perfectly  audible  to  one  who 
might  be  passing  by. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  queer  people  in  your  life?" 
the  tall  ranger  heard  Vivian  say,  and  Carver's  re- 
joinder made  the  straight  line  between  his  brows 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    231 

even  deeper  than  before.  Apparently  there  was 
double  need  for  his  friendly  hint. 

"Some  five  hundred,  believe  me!"  said  the  third 
Carver  Standish. 

The  scorn  in  his  voice  was  born  of  petulance 
rather  than  of  snobbishness,  but  no  such  kindly 
discrimination  would  be  made  by  any  sharp-eared 
guest  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis,  and  the  Cinnamon 
Creek  forest  ranger  lost  no  time. 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  said  frankly  but  pleasantly 
to  the  amazed  Carver  Standish,  "I'd  be  a  bit  more 
careful  about  what  I  said.  You  see,  here  in  Wyo- 
ming it's  not  considered  good  form  to  talk  about 
your  host  and  his  guests.  If  they  heard  you,  it 
mightn't  be  comfortable.  And,  besides,  it  seems 
to  me  it  would  be  better  to  dance  with  other  folks. 
That's  why  I  came  to  ask  you  if  you'd  dance  the 
next  dance  with  me,  Miss  Winters." 

Carver  and  Vivian  were  too  discomfited  to  be 
gracious.  Like  many  persons  more  mature  than 
they,  they  sought  to  cover  embarrassment  and  to 
gain  control  of  the  situation  by  bad  manners. 

"I  hardly  think,"  said  Carver  Standish  III  stiffly, 


232     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"that  I  need  any  coaching  on  behavior  from  you!" 

And  before  the  ranger  had  time  to  reply,  had  he 
contemplated  such  action,  Vivian  was  ready  with 
her  self-defense. 

"I  rather  guess  New  Englanders  have  about  as 
good  manners  as  Wyoming  people,"  she  said  scath- 
ingly, "at  least  judging  from  those  I've  seen!" 

The  reply  of  the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger 
was  brief  and  to  the  point. 

"I  always  thought  so  myself  until  to-night,"  he 
said. 

Then  he  bowed  politely,  procured  a  glass  of  cider 
for  the  waiting  Miss  Bumps,  who  was  tatting  dur- 
ing the  interval,  and  quietly  took  his  leave.  But 
his  words,  angrily  received  though  they  had  been, 
bore  fruit,  for  Carver  Standish  III  danced  not  only 
with  Miss  Martha  Bumps  but  also  with  Mrs.  Sam- 
uel Wilson  who  was  twice  his, size;  and  Vivian, 
heartily  ashamed  of  herself  and  seeking  redemption 
in  her  own  eyes,  accepted  the  Biering  cow  boy  with- 
out a  show  of  an  introduction,  and  danced  with  him 
three  times  during  the  evening,  not  to  mention  her 
hearty  acceptance  of  Dick  and  Alec  and  Joe. 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    233 

It  was  late  when  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis'  barn- 
warming  broke  up,  and  later  when  the  guests  rode 
and  drove  away  down  the  canyon.  In  Mr.  Cru- 
soe's rig,  save  from  one  occupant,  conversation 
and  laughter  never  ceased  until  they  turned  down 
the  avenue  of  cotton  woods.  The  Cinnamon  Creek 
forest  ranger  came  in  for  his  share  of  the  observa- 
tions from  all  but  Vivian — his  general  superiority 
over  the  other  rangers,  his  good  English,  the  in- 
teresting line  between  his  eyes,  and  his  air  of  hav- 
ing seen  the  world.  Miss  Bumps  was  admired  and 
complimented.  The  stature  of  the  biggest  Biering 
cow  boy  brought  forth  exclamations.  The  capacity 
of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  as  a  host  received  loud 
praise.  In  short,  no  one  was  omitted,  even  to  the 
youngest  Wilson  baby,  who  had  looked  so  adorable 
as  he  lay  asleep  in  the  bin. 

It  had  been  a  memorable  evening,  Aunt  Nan  said, 
as  they  gathered  around  the  big  fire  which  Hannah 
had  kept  for  them,  for  a  last  half  hour  before 
bed-time.  She  thought  they  all  needed  just  such 
an  occasion,  so  that  they  might  carry  back  home 
with  them  a  knowledge  of  real  Wyoming  hospi- 


234     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

tality  which  knew  no  strangers.  Of  course,  they 
had  seen  it  all  summer  long,  she  added,  smiling  at 
Virginia,  but  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis 
had  made  them  one  with  all  Elk  Creek  Valley  and 
Bear  Canyon. 

"I've  been  thinking  all  the  evening  of  the  little 
poem  we  learned  last  Christmas,  Virginia,"  she  said. 
"You  know,  the  one  about  the  fire.  I  guess  the 
big  bon-fires  at  Mr.  Jarvis'  made  me  think  of  it, 
and  now  this  one  at  home  brings  it  back  again. 
You  remember  it,  don't  you?" 

Virginia  did  remember.  She  repeated  it  softly 
while  they  watched  the  flames  and  listened.  Vivian, 
in  her  corner,  was  glad  no  one  could  see  the  red 
which  crept  into  her  cheeks. 

"'I  watched  a  log  in  the  fire-place  burning, 
Wrapped  in  flame  like  a  winding  sheet, 
Giving  again  with  splendid  largess 
The  sun's  long  gift  of  treasured  heat — 

"  'Giving  again  in  the  fire's  low  music 

The  sound  of  wind  on  an  autumn  night, 
And  the  gold  of  many  a  summer  sunrise 
Garnered  and  given  out  in  light. 


Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  Entertains    235 

"  'I  watched  a  log  in  the  fire-place  burning — 

Oh,  if  I,  too,  could  only  be 
Sure  to  give  back  the  love  and  laughter 
That  Life  so  freely  gave  to  me!'" 

"That's  what  the  people  out  here  do,"  said  Aunt 
Nan  after  a  little  when  Virginia  had  finished. 
"They're  not  afraid  to  give  back  the  'love  and 
laughter'  which  Life  has  given  them.  I  think  we 
reserved  New  Englanders  can  learn  a  lesson  from 
Mr.  Jarvis  and  the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger 
and  all  the  other  people  we  met  and  be  more 
willing  to  give  back  what  we've  had  given  to 
us." 

For  a  long  hour  after  she  had  gone  to  bed  Vivian 
remembered  the  lesson  she  might  have  learned  from 
the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger  and  would  not; 
the  love  and  laughter  she  might  have  given  the  guests 
of  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis  and  did  not.  Thoroughly 
disgusted  with  herself,  she  lay  looking  through  the 
tent  opening  at  the  mountains — great,  silent  souls 
beneath  the  stars.  They  gave  back — just  every- 
thing, she  thought. 

"Can't  you  sleep,  Vivian?"  Virginia  whispered 


286     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

from  her  bed  across  the  tent.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

Vivian  told  half  the  truth. 

"It's  that  poem,"  she  said  petulantly.  "Of  course 
it's  lovely,  but  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind,  and 
I  hate  to  have  things  run  through  my  head  like 
that!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CINNAMON   CREEK   FOREST  RANGER 

"No,  Vivian,"  assured  Virginia  for  at  least  the 
tenth  time,  "there  aren't  any  cattle  on  those  hills. 
You  just  turn  up  the  Bear  Canyon  road  where  we 
went  after  the  bear,  and  go  till  you  reach  the  creek. 
It's  only  a  mile  from  here.  Then  if  you  feel  a 
bit  nervous  about  riding  Siwash  up  the  mountain, 
why  tie  him  to  a  tree  and  walk.  Perhaps  'twill  be 
easier  anyway,  for  you'll  find  the  kinnikinnick  just 
after  you  leave  the  creek.  It  will  be  redder  in 
the  open  places,  so  hunt  for  those.  You'll  love  it 
for  Christmas  boxes.  If  it  weren't  for  Caesar,  I'd 
go  with  you,  but  I  want  to  finish  the  third  book 
before  Mary  goes.  Is  it  at  the  creek  Carver's  go- 
ing to  meet  you?" 

"There  or  at  the  crossroads,"  explained  Vivian, 
as  she  mounted  Siwash.  "He  went  to  town  this 
morning  with  Donald,  but  he  said  he'd  be  back  in 

237 


238     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

plenty  of  time.  I  tried  to  'phone,  but  I  guess  there 
must  be  something  wrong.  I  couldn't  get  any  one, 
and  it  didn't  buzz  at  all.  But  I  know  he'll  be  there, 
and  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  Siwash.  Good-by." 

Virginia  stood  on  the  porch  and  watched  Vivian 
ride  down  the  lane  before  returning  to  Caesar.  She 
was  wondering  if  anything  could  be  the  matter, 
if,  perhaps,  something  had  happened  at  the  barn- 
warming  the  evening  before  to  displease  Viv- 
ian. She  had  seemed  so  unlike  herself  all  the 
morning. 

But,  she  concluded  wisely,  few  days  were  cloud- 
less, and  even  an  almost  perfect  house-party  had 
its  ups  and  downs.  She  and  Donald  had  both 
discovered  that.  So  many  different  personalities 
were  bound  to  collide  occasionally,  and  one  couldn't 
be  happy  always.  An  afternoon  on  the  mountain 
was  sure  to  make  Vivian's  world  bright  again. 

Meanwhile  Vivian  neared  the  crossroads.  Car- 
ver was  not  there.  A  scanning  of  the  prairie  showed 
him  nowhere  in  sight.  She  would  ride  up  the 
canyon  to  the  ford  and  wait  there,  she  said  to 
herself.  When  she  rode,  her  thoughts  were  less 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    239 

troublesome,  and  it  was  far  easier  to  stick  to  her 
resolve. 

Last  evening,  just  as  Mr.  Benjamin  Jarvis'  guests 
were  dispersing,  she  had  made  a  hasty  engagement 
with  Carver  to  meet  her  the  following  afternoon 
and  go  for  kinnikinnick  up  Cinnamon  Creek.  The 
search  for  kinnikinnick  was  not,  however,  her  real 
reason  for  wishing  to  see  Carver.  If  her  courage 
did  not  fail  her,  and  if  her  sudden  resolve  did 
not  wane  in  the  light  of  day,  as  resolves  so  often 
do,  she  was  going  to  ask  Carver  to  ride  with  her 
up  Cinnamon  Creek  to  the  ranger's  cabin,  and  there 
help  her  to  apologize  for  their  rudeness.  To  admit 
her  regret  to  Carver  would  be  even  more  difficult 
than  to  apologize  to  the  ranger,  and  she  was  not 
at  all  sure  that  she  should  wish  to  do  so  in  severely 
practical  daylight. 

Yet  daylight  had  come — it  was  early  afternoon 
of  the  next  day — and  she  was  still  ready  if  Carver 
would  only  come.  She  allowed  Siwash  to  sink 
his  warm  nose  in  the  amber  waters  of  the  ford 
while  she  waited.  It  was  very  still  up  there.  In 
fact,  only  Virginia's  repeated  assurances  that  there 


240     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

were  no  cattle  on  the  hills  and  her  own  knowledge 
that  a  homesteader's  cabin  was  just  out  of  sight 
beyond  the  quaking-asps  on  her  left,  made  Vivian 
endure  that  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  hurrying 
creek  waters  and  the  lazy  humming  of  tiny,  hidden 
insects. 

To  her  right  rose  the  mountain  wall,  dark  with 
pine  and  spruce,  though  here  and  there  a  flaming 
service-berry  or  a  hawthorn  broke  through  the  ever- 
greens like  sudden  fire.  The  tangle  of  trees  and 
shrubs  seemed  impenetrable,  and  yet  Virginia  had 
told  of  a  trail  which  led  from  the  creek  not  three 
rods  from  the  ford — led  up,  up,  up  for  five  miles 
until  it  reached  the  Cinnamon  Creek  Station. 

Why  did  not  Carver  come  ?  She  wished  she  could 
be  as  patient  as  Siwash  who  stood  knee  deep  in 
the  ford,  hung  his  shaggy,  homely  head,  and  stole 
a  nap  gratefully.  For  the  twentieth  time  Vivian 
rehearsed  her  speeches,  the  one  to  Carver  and  the 
other  to  the  insulted  ranger.  That  is,  he  had  every 
cause  to  be  insulted,  though  her  memory  of  the 
smile  with  which  he  had  receive  1  her  thrust  would 
seem  to  dispute  his  justifiable  indignation.  Perhaps 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    241 

here  in  the  mountains  people  were  not  so  easily 
insulted.  They,  the  mountains,  were  so  big  and 
generous  that  they  made  one  ashamed  of  little- 
ness. 

Being  sure  of  the  speeches,  she  grew  more  and 
more  impatient.  Carver,  waiting  in  Elk  Creek  for 
a  stock  train  to  load  up  with  its  living  freight, 
was  even  more  uneasy  than  she.  He  could  not  leave 
Donald  and  there  was  no  way  of  .letting  Vivian 
know  that  he  could  not  meet  her  at  the  ford.  At 
last,  having  convinced  himself  that  he  could  not 
help  matters,  he  sat  down  on  the  station  platform, 
disturbed  in  spirit  and  conscience,  and  hoped  that 
Vivian  had  already  turned  back  home. 

But  Vivian  did  not  turn  back.  It  grew  hot  by 
the  ford,  and  she  decided  to  tie  Siwash  in  the 
shadow  of  some  quaking-asps  across  the  creek,  and 
go  up  the  trail  herself  to  a  shady  place.  Carver 
would  see  Siwash  and  call  to  her  if  she  did  not 
hear  him  come. 

It  was  cool  and  shady  beneath  the  trees  that 
bordered  the  rocky  trail.  She  would  willingly  have 
rested  had  not  her  eyes  spied  the  red  berries  of 


242     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

some  kinnikinnick  growing  on  either  side  of  the 
path.  Farther  away  in  an  open  space  she  saw  more 
and  larger.  They  were  far  prettier  than  holly  for 
Christmas  boxes,  and  would  be  so  different  to  her 
friends  back  East.  She  loved  the  tiny  leaves  and 
graceful  trailing  of  the  vines,  which  seemed  hardly 
sturdy  enough  to  hold  the  big,  round,  jolly-looking 
berries. 

Virginia  was  right.  They  did  grow  more  luxu- 
riantly in  the  infrequent  open  places,  and  she  climbed 
farther  and  farther  up  the  mountain  side,  seeking 
like  Hansel  and  Gretel  for  bigger  berries  than  she 
had  found.  Sometimes  she  stood  still  and  listened. 
The  silence  made  a  queer  catch  in  her  throat.  Had 
it  not  been  for  her  eagerness  to  find  more  and  bet- 
ter kinnikinnick,  and  her  knowledge  that  the  home- 
steader's cabin  was  very  near,  she  would  have  been 
frightened.  But  Carver  must  be  there  very  soon, 
and  though  she  often  left  the  trail,  the  sound  of  the 
creek  was  proof  against  her  being  lost.  Her  own 
woodsman  instinct  was  not  strong,  but  Virginia 
had  told  her  always  to  trust  the  creek,  which  would 
ever  lead  one  down  whence  she  had  come. 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    243 

Once  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  Away 
in  the  top  of  a  great  spruce  she  heard  a  hammering1 
sound.  It  echoed  through  the  silent  woods  like  great 
blows  of  an  ax,  and  some  long  moments  passed  be- 
fore Vivian  could  assure  her  frightened  heart  that 
it  was  only  a  flicker  searching  for  his  dinner. 

Her  box  was  filled  with  kinnikinnick  and  she 
would  go  back.  If  Carver  were  not  at  the  ford, 
they  must  make  the  trip  up  the  trail  the  next  day  in 
spite  of  Virginia's  plan  for  a  ride  to  Lone  Moun- 
tain. If  necessary,  she  would  be  brave  enough  to 
explain  matters,  and  then  they  would  understand. 

She  turned  to  go  down  the  mountain,  when  sud- 
denly from  above  her  came  a  sound  of  breaking 
underbrush  as  though  some  creature  were  burst- 
ing1 from  its  covert.  Vivian  stood  motionless,  too 
terrified  to  move  or  to  scream.  It  was  not  Carver 
— that  was  certain.  He  would  never  be  upon  the 
mountain.  It  was  far  more  likely  to  be  a  bear. 
Why  not  one  here  as  well  as  farther  up  the  canyon 
where  they  had  caught  that  monster  from  the  sight 
of  which  she  had  not  yet  recovered?  Thoughts 
passed  like  flashes  through  her  brain  while  that 


244     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

awful  sound  of  breaking  twigs  continued.  Hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  them  came,  crowding  one 
another  for  space — thoughts  of  St.  Helen's,  snatches 
of  poems  she  had  learned,  memories  of  things  which 
had  frightened  her  as  a  child.  And  last  of  all, 
perhaps  because  without  knowing  it  she  had  reached 
a  great  tree  and  sunk  in  a  little  heap  at  its  foot, 
came  the  picture  of  a  sallow  youth  in  eye-glasses 
and  a  linen  duster,  who  had  once,  ages  ago,  crashed 
through  some  underbrush  somewhere  else! 

The  crashing  ceased.  Some  one  stepped  into  the 
trail  above  her.  The  thought  of  a  bear  had  some- 
how given  place  to  her  old  knight-errant  of  the 
soda-fountain.  And  yet  when  she  looked  up,  ex- 
pecting to  see  his  pale,  sickly  countenance,  she  saw 
instead  the  khaki-clad  form  and  the  surprised  blue 
eyes  of  the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger! 

He  was  the  very  person  she  had  wished  to  see. 
She  could  make  her  speech  now,  and  be  spared  her 
long  ride,  and  yet  she  found  herself  studying  the 
line  between  his  eyes  and  wondering  why  other 
people  did  not  have  a  line  there,  too.  It  was  the 
Cinnamon  Creek  forest  ranger  who  spoke  first. 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    245 

"If  that  were  an  oak  tree,"  he  said,  "I'd  think 
you  were  consulting  an  oracle;  but  since  it  isn't, 
maybe  you're  just  a  Dryad  who's  fallen  out  of  the 
branches.  What  are  you  doing  away  up  here  any- 
way? I  guess  you  startled  me  almost  as  much  as 
I  seem  to  have  startled  you.  I'm  mighty  sorry  I 
scared  you  though!" 

His  apology  made  Vivian  remember  her  own, 
and  though  she  quite  forgot  her  speech  and  just 
stammered  out  how  sorry  she  was,  the  ranger  liked 
it  quite  as  well  and  assured  her  he  should  never  think 
of  it  again. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "since  you've  come  away  off 
up  here,  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go  home  until 
you've  seen  my  garden." 

"Your  garden?"  queried  Vivian.  "Why,  your 
cabin  isn't  here!  It's " 

"I  know,"  he  interrupted,  "but  my  garden  is. 
Follow  me.  I'll  show  you.  I  promise  there  aren't 
any  bears." 

She  followed  him  for  half  a  mile  up  the  trail. 
They  wound  around  great  bowlders  and  along  the 
edges  of  steep,  forbidding  places.  Then  the  ran- 


246     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ger  paused  before  a  thicket  of  yellow  quaking- 
asps. 

"This  is  the  entrance,"  he  explained.  "Now  pre- 
pare, for  you're  going  to  see  something  more  won- 
derful than  the  hanging  gardens  of  Nineveh." 

Pushing  aside  the  quaking-asps,  he  made  a  path 
for  Vivian,  who  followed,  mystified.  A  few  mo- 
ments more  and  they  had  passed  the  portals,  and 
stood  in  the  ranger's  garden. 

Vivian  caught  her  breath.  Never  in  her  life  had 
she  seen  such  grandeur  of  color.  They  stood  in 
an  open  place — a  tiny  valley  surrounded  by  brown 
foot-hills.  Beyond,  the  higher  pine-clad  mountains 
shut  off  the  valley  from  the  eyes  of  all  who  did 
not  seek  it.  Some  great,  gray,  overhanging  rocks 
guarded  the  farther  entrance.  Within  the  in- 
closure,  carpeting  the  valley  and  clothing  the  foot- 
hills, great  masses  of  color  glowed  in  the  gold  of 
the  sunlight.  The  ranger's  garden  was  a  flaming 
pageant  of  yellow  and  bronze  and  orange,  crimson 
and  scarlet  and  purple  between  a  cloudless,  tur- 
quoise sky. 

"Oh !"  cried  Vivian.    "It's  just  like  a  secret,  isn't 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    247 

it,  hidden  away  up  here?  I  never  saw  such  color 
in  all  my  life,  except  in  Tha'is,  you  know,  where  the 
women  in  Alexandria  wore  such  beautiful  gowns." 
Somehow  she  knew  that  the  Cinnamon  Creek  forest 
ranger  did  know. 

"Yes,"  he  said  understandingly,  "I  remember, 
only  this  is  better  than  grand  opera,  because  it's 
real.  You  see,  I  spotted  this  place  last  spring.  I 
saw  all  the  different  shrubs — quaking-asp  and  buck- 
brush  and  Oregon  grape  and  service-berry  and 
hawthorn  and  wild  currant — and  I  thought  to  my- 
self that  this  would  be  some  garden  in  September. 
It's  cold  nights  up  here  in  these  hills,  the  frosts 
are  early,  and  the  sun  strikes  this  valley  all  day. 
It's  going  to  be  even  more  gorgeous  in  two  weeks 
more.  It  isn't  exactly  on  my  beat,  but  it's  near 
enough  so  I  can  make  it.  Come  on.  I'll  show  you 
all  the  different  things." 

So  he  led  her  from  golden  quaking-asp  to  crim- 
son hawthorn,  and  taught  her  the  names  of  every- 
thing that  grew  in  his  wonderful  garden.  Before 
they  had  made  the  circle,  Vivian  mustered  courage, 
and,  seeing  the  jeweled  pin  upon  the  pocket  of  his 


248     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

rough  shirt,  which  his  coat  had  covered  the  evening 
before,  asked  him  about  himself,  and  if  Wyoming 
were  his  home. 

No,  he  said,  glad  to  tell  her.  He  was  from  Maine, 
and  the  pin  he  wore  was  his  fraternity  pin.  He  had 
studied  forestry  in  the  university  there,  and  then, 
becoming  ill,  had  been  sent  West  to  get  rid  of  a 
nasty  cough  which  didn't  want  to  go  away.  But 
the  mountains  had  proven  the  best  doctors  in  the 
world,  and  he  was  only  staying  on  a  year  in  the 
cabin  at  Cinnamon  Creek  to  learn  the  mountain 
trees,  and  to  add  a  few  more  pounds  before  go- 
ing back  home  again. 

Vivian  grew  more  and  more  confused  as  she 
listened.  Here  he  was  a  New  Englander  like  her- 
self, and  she  had  been  so  rude.  What  would  Car- 
ver say  when  he  knew? 

"It  just  shows,"  she  said,  "that  we  never  can  tell 
about  persons  on  first  acquaintance.  I'm  doubly 
sorry  I  was  rude  last  night.  I  thought  you  didn't 
talk  like  a  Westerner,  but  I  didn't  dream  you  were 
from  New  England!" 

He  smiled. 


The  Cinnamon  Creek  Forest  Ranger    249 

"I've  learned  since  I've  been  out  here,"  he  said, 
"that  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  where  we're 
from.  Wyoming  hearts  are  just  like  New  England 
ones,  and  the  only  safe  way  is  never  to  be  rude 
or  unkind  at  all." 

Vivian  agreed  with  him.  She  never  would  be 
again,  she  said  to  herself,  as  they  left  the  garden 
and  went  back  down  the  trail  to  Siwash  and  the 
ford.  Carver  was  not  there,  and  the  ranger  in- 
sisted upon  walking  home  with  her.  He  would  not 
have  stayed  for  supper  had  not  Virginia  and  Aunt 
Nan,  meeting  them  at  the  mail-box,  persuaded 
him. 

So  it  was  a  very  merry  party  that  ate  supper 
beneath  the  cottonwoods — a  party  saddened  only 
by  the  early  good-night  of  the  Cinnamon  Creek 
ranger,  who  wanted  to  make  his  mountain  cabin 
before  darkness  quite  obliterated  the  trail.  As  he 
swung  into  the  main  road  after  some  cordial  hand- 
shakes which  warmed  his  heart,  he  met  Carver 
Standish  III. 

It  was  too  nearly  dark  for  Carver  to  see  the 
fraternity  pin,  and  no  one  had  yet  told  him  that 


250     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  ranger  was  from  New  England.  Neverthe- 
less, he  straightened  his  shoulders,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"I've  wanted  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "to  tell 
you  that  I  was  an  awful  cad  last  night,  and  that 
I'm  dead  ashamed  of  it!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   WINTHRQP    COAT-OF-ARMS 

PRISCILLA,  sitting  under  the  biggest  cottonwood, 
was  writing  to  Miss  Wallace,  in  her  best  handwrit- 
ing, on  her  best  stationery,  in  her  best  style.  One 
unconsciously  brought  forth  the  best  she  had  for 
Miss  Wallace.  She  was  telling  of  the  Emperor  and 
of  the  Cinnamon  Creek  ranger,  sure  that  Miss  Wal- 
lace would  be  glad  to  add  both  to  her  collection 
of  interesting  people.  Interruptions  were  many. 
Carver,  moody  and  silent,  rode  over,  looking  for 
entertainment,  and  she  did  her  best;  Vivian,  hav- 
ing reached  a  halt  in  her  daily  Latin  review,  asked 
assistance;  little  David,  Alec's  adorable  son,  had 
come  over  with  his  mother  for  the  afternoon,  and 
Priscilla  found  him  irresistible;  and  at  last  Don- 
ald, riding  homeward,  hot  and  tired  from  work- 
ing on  the  range,  had  stopped  for  rest  and  refresh- 
ment. With  Hannah's  help  Priscilla  had  provided 

251 


252     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  refreshment,  and  the  ground  beneath  the  cot- 
tonwood  was  giving  the  rest. 

"Some  stationery!"  said  Donald,  raising  himself 
on  his  elbow  to  look  at  the  pile  of  sheets  which 
Priscilla  had  placed  in  readiness  on  the  grass.  "A 
shield  and  an  eagle  and  a  lion  and  a  unicorn  all 
at  once,  to  say  nothing  of  Latin.  What  does  it 
say  ?  'Courage — my ' 

"Courage  is  my  heritage"  translated  Priscilla 
proudly.  "It's  our  family  coat-of-arms,  and  that's 
the  motto.  We've  had  it  for  years  and  years,  ever 
since  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  A  Winthrop  was 
shield-bearer  for  Edward,  Duke  of  York,  and 
Grandfather  used  to  say  we  could  be  traced  back 
to  the  Norman  Conquest." 

"I  see,"  said  Donald  politely,  but  with  something 
very  like  amusement  in  his  blue  eyes.  "You  New 
England  folks  are  strong  on  crests  and  mottoes 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  aren't  you?" 

"No  more  than  we  should  be,"  announced  Pris- 
cilla a  little  haughtily.  "We  are  the  oldest  families 
for  the  most  part,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  re- 
member all  those  things  about  our  ancestors.  It's — 


The  Winthrop  Coat-of-Arms       253 

it's  very — stimulating.  The  West  is  so  excited  over 
progress  and  developing  the  country  and  all  that," 
she  finished  a  little  disdainfully,  "that  it  doesn't 
care  about  family  traditions  or — or  anything  like 
that." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Donald.  "It  isn't 
so  bad  as  that.  We  think  a  fine  family  history  is 
a  splendid  thing.  I  venture  I'm  as  proud  of  my 
Scotch  forefathers  as  you  are  of  the  Duke  of  York's 
shield-bearer,  though  we  haven't  any  coat-of-arms, 
and  never  did  have  any,  I  guess.  Only  back  there 
you  think  it's  a  necessity  to  have  a  good  ancestry, 
and  out  here  we  just  consider  it  a  help.  I  like 
what  Burns  said  about  a  man  being  just  a  man. 
That's  the  way  we  feel  out  here.  It  isn't  what  you 
come  from;  it's  what  you  are,  and  what  you  can 
do.  Family  mottoes  are  all  right,  if  you  live  up 
to  them.  I  knew  a  fellow  at  school  when  I  was 
East  two  years  ago.  He  roomed  with  me.  He  had 
the  family  coat-of-arms  framed  and  hung  on  the 
wall.  'Twas  all  red  and  silver,  and  the  motto  was 
'Ne  cede  malls' — 'Yield  not  to  difficulties.'  The 
funny  part  was  that  he  was  the  biggest  quitter 


254     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

in  school.  You  see,  I  think  it's  you  who  have  to 
uphold  the  motto — not  the  motto  that  has  to  up- 
hold you." 

Priscilla  ate  a  cookie  silently.  She  wished  Don- 
ald were  not  so  convincing. 

"For  instance,"  Donald  continued,  "suppose  Cour- 
age is  my  heritage  were  Vivian's  family  motto.  Do 
you  think  that  fact  would  give  Vivian  an  extra 
amount  of  courage  if  she  said  it  over  a  thousand 
times?  I  don't.  All  the  courage  Vivian's  got  she's 
gained  for  herself  without  any  motto  to  help  her 
out.  And  I  guess  that's  the  way  with  most  of  us 
in  this  world." 

He  took  his  hat  and  rose  to  go. 

"I've  got  to  be  making  for  home,"  he  said. 
"Dave's  gone,  and  I've  an  extra  amount  of  work 
to  do.  Thanks  awfully  for  the  cookies,  and  don't 
think  I'm  too  hard  on  the  family  motto  business. 
I  can  see  where  your  motto  means  a  heap  to  you, 
but  you're  not  a  quitter  anyway,  Priscilla." 

He  jumped  on  MacDuff  and  rode  down  the  lane 
with  a  final  wave  of  his  hat  as  he  galloped  home- 
ward across  the  prairie.  Priscilla's  cheeks  grew 


The  Winthrop  Coat-of-Arms       255 

red  as  she  watched  him.  She  was  not  any  too 
sure  that  she  was  not  a  quitter.  Disturbing  memo- 
ries came  to  trouble  her — memories  of  occasions 
when  she  had  not  proven  the  truth  of  the  motto, 
which  had  fired  her  ancestors.  Donald  was  right, 
too,  about  ancestry  and  coats-of-arms  and  mottoes 
being  only  helps.  Her  New  England  conscience 
told  her  that,  and  her  weeks  in  Wyoming  corrobo- 
rated her  conscience.  Still  she  was  averse  to  ad- 
mitting it — even  to  Donald. 

She  returned  to  her  unfinished  letter,  but  Genius 
seemed  on  a  vacation.  She  could  not  picture  the 
Emperor  to  Miss  Wallace — could  not  give  the  im- 
pression which  he  had  indelibly  stamped  upon  her 
memory  as  he  stood  between  Nero  and  Trajan  at 
the  palace  entrance.  The  coat-of-arms  seemed  a 
disturbing  element.  She  covered  it  with  a  strip  of 
paper,  but  still  thoughts  would  not  come. 

Disgruntled  and  out-of -sorts,  she  put  away  her 
letter,  and  started  toward  the  house.  Carver's 
mood  was  contagious,  she  said  to  herself.  In  Han- 
nah's kitchen  she  found  Mrs.  Alec  and  little  David, 
a  roly-poly  youngster  of  three  who  demanded  too 


256     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

much  attention  for  just  one  mother.  Priscilla,  see- 
ing in  David  a  sure  antidote  for  introspection,  of- 
fered to  play  the  part  of  the  necessary  other  mother, 
and  took  him  out-of-doors,  much  to  the  relief  of 
tired  Mrs.  Alec.  She  had  no  more  time  to  think 
of  family  mottoes  or  coats-of-arms.  David  clam- 
ored for  attention,  begged  to  be  shown  the  horse, 
the  dogs,  and  all  the  live-stock  which  the  ranch 
afforded.  Priscilla  was  an  obedient  guide.  Noth- 
ing was  omitted  from  the  itinerary.  When  David, 
satisfied  as  to  the  other  four-footed  possessions, 
said  "Pigs"  in  his  funny  Scotch  way,  pigs  it  was ! 

She  led  him  down  the  hill  to  the  corral,  then 
off  toward  the  right  where  the  pigs  had  their 
abiding-place.  A  pile  of  rocks,  the  crevices  of 
which  were  filled  with  all  weeds  infesting  the  neigh- 
borhood of  pigs,  offered  a  vantage-ground  from 
which  they  might  view  the  landscape  so  alluring 
to  little  David.  With  his  hand  in  hers,  she  was 
helping  him  mount  the  rocks  one  by  one. 

Suddenly  a  miniature  saw-mill  whirred  at  their 
feet.  A  swarm  of  bees  filled  the  air!  Priscilla, 
intent  upon  David,  had  not  noticed  the  flat  sur- 


The  Winthrop  Coat-of-Arms       257 

face  of  the  rock  where  the  sun  lay  warm  and  bright. 
Warned  by  the  strange  sound,  her  terrified  eyes  saw 
the  snake,  coiled  and  ready  to  spring!  She  had 
a  fleeting  vision  of  a  flat,  cruel  head,  and  a  thou- 
sand diamond-shaped  yellow  dots  as  she  grasped 
little  David  by  the  neckband  and  pulled  him  from 
the  rocks  to  the  corral.  It  was  a  rattlesnake !  The 
brakeman's  prophecy  had  come  true!  In  spite  of 
Virginia's  assertion  that  they  never  came  near  the 
house,  she  had  seen  one! 

Little  David  was  crying  from  surprise  and  a  sore 
neck.  He  had  not  seen  the  snake.  Priscilla  was 
trembling  in  every  muscle.  There  was  no  one  whom 
she  could  call.  The  men  were  on  the  range  and 
in  the  fields;  Mr.  Hunter  and  the  girls,  except 
Vivian,  were  in  town ;  Aunt  Nan  was  at  the  Keiths. 
The  snake  must  not  be  allowed  to  live.  Little 
David  might  be  playing  around  there  again,  or  some 
other  child.  She  herself  would  never,  never  have 

the  courage !    She  started,  for  suddenly  in  place 

of  the  sound  of  the  saw-mill  and  the  vision  of  the 
diamond-shaped  dots,  came  the  memory  of  a  lion 
rampant  on  a  field  of  gold,  an  eagle  perched  upon 


258     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

a  shield,  and  a  unicorn  surrounded  by  stars.  As 
the  red  came  back  into  her  white  cheeks,  Don- 
ald's words  came  back  also: 

"You  see,  you're  no  quitter  anyway,  Priscilla!" 

Two  minutes  later  Mrs.  Alec  and  Hannah  were 
surprised  to  receive  into  their  midst  a  shrieking 
child,  borne  by  a  most  determined  girl,  who  was 
almost  out  of  breath. 

"He's  all  right!"  she  gasped.  "Except  his  neck, 
I  mean!  I  dragged  him.  I  had  to!  I'll  tell  you 
why  by  and  by.  Keep  him  till  I  get  back !" 

Then  she  flew  out  of  the  house  and  down  the 
path  to  the  stables.  A  many-tined  pitchfork  rested 
against  one  of  the  sheds.  It  was  one  which  Wil- 
liam had  used  that  morning  in  turning  over  sod 
for  a  new  flower-bed.  Priscilla  in  her  hurried  tran- 
sit with  David  had  marked  the  fork,  and  chosen 
it  as  her  best  weapon.  Of  all  those  cruel  tines, 
one  must  surely  be  successful.  Donald  had  told 
tales  of  forked  sticks  and  heavy  stones,  but  her 
hands  were  too  inexperienced  for  those  things. 

She  seized  the  fork  and  ran  down  the  path  to- 
ward the  rocks,  not  daring  to  stop  lest  her  resolve 


The  Winthrop  Coat-of-Arms       259 

should  fail  her;  not  even  waiting  to  plan  her  at- 
tack lest  the  memory  of  that  awful  head  should 
send  her  back  to  the  kitchen. 

The  saw-mill  whirred  again  as  she  neared  the 
rock.  Apparently  the  snake  had  not  stirred  since 
his  last  conquest.  This  time  she  saw  his  wicked 
little  eyes,  his  flattened  head,  and  the  contraction 
of  his  diamond-covered  muscles  as  he  made  ready 
to  spring.  But  Priscilla  sprang  first.  The  tines 
of  the  heavy  pitchfork  pierced  the  coils,  and  the 
only  whirr  which  sounded  was  the  whirr  of  iron 
against  the  rock. 

Priscilla,  on  the  rock  below,  held  the  handle  of 
the  pitchfork  firmly,  and  tried  not  to  look  at  her 
victim  as  he  writhed  in  agony.  A  sickness  was 
creeping  over  her.  There  were  queer  vibrations  in 
the  air,  and  a  strange,  singing  sound  in  her  ears. 
Memory  brought  back  the  picture  of  an  evening 
in  Carver  Standish's  room  at  the  Gordon  School 
when  she  had  felt  the  same  way.  She  would  not 
faint,  she  said  to  herself,  rallying  all  her  forces. 
She  would  die  first !  The  snake  had  ceased  writhing. 
He  was  surely  dead.  Little  David  need  be  no 


260     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

longer  in  danger,  and  she — perhaps  she  need  not 
feel  so  unworthy  when  she  thought  of  the  Winthrop 
coat-of-arms. 

She  was  very  white  when  she  reached  the  kitchen, 
after  depositing  the  pitchfork  and  its  burden  by 
the  shed.  Grateful  Mrs.  Alec  cried  and  held  little 
David  closer  when  Priscilla,  fortified  by  Hannah's 
cider,  told  the  story.  Alec,  who  came  in  a  few  min- 
utes later,  was  grateful,  too,  in  his  bluff  Scotch 
way.  The  snake,  he  said,  was  a  whopper.  He  had 
rarely  seen  a  larger,  and  Miss  Priscilla  was  a  trump 
— the  very  bravest  tenderfoot  he'd  ever  seen ! 

She  had  been  true  to  her  heritage,  Donald  said 
that  evening — worthy  to  bear  the  Winthrop  coat-of- 
arms.  But  then  he  knew  she  wasn't  a  quitter  any- 
way. He  had  told  her  so  that  very  afternoon. 

But  Priscilla's  honesty  was  equal  to  all  the  de- 
mands placed  upon  it  that  night.  Donald's  praise 
was  but  the  last  straw! 

"All  the  coats-of-arms  and  family  mottoes  in  the 
world,  Donald,"  she  said,  "couldn't  have  made  me 
kill  that  snake.  It  was  what  you  said  about  them, 
and  about  me  not  being  a  quitter  that  did  it.  I 


The  Winthrop  Coat-of-Arms       261 

think  I  was  a  quitter  until  this  afternoon;  but  now 
I  can  go  and  write  Miss  Wallace  without  covering 
up  the  top  of  the  paper.  I'm  going  to  do  it  before 
bed-time,  if  you'll  excuse  me.  Good-night!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   GOOD  SPORT 

"WHEW!"  sighed  Vivian,  shifting  her  position 
in  the  saddle  for  the  tenth  time  in  as  many  min- 
utes, and  taking  off  her  broad-brimmed  hat  to  fan 
her  tanned,  flushed  face.  "I  think  sagebrush  must 
attract  the  sun.  I  never  was  hotter  in  all  my  life! 
I  wish  now  we'd  stayed  at  the  Buffalo  Horn  and 
waited  till  after  supper  to  start  back.  Of  course  I 
don't  exactly  love  riding  in  the  dark,  but  of  the 
two  I'd  about  as  soon  be  scared  to  death  as  baked. 
Where  is  the  next  shady  spot,  Virginia?  I  can't 
see  a  tree  for  miles !  I  honestly  can't !" 

"There  aren't  any,"  said  the  comforting  Virginia, 
brushing  back  the  damp  rings  of  hair  from  her 
hot  forehead,  "and  the  next  shady  spot  is  two  miles 
away.  The  trail  bends  and  there  are  some  quaking- 
asps  by  a  spring.  We'll  rest  there,  and  eat  our 
cookies,  and  drink  some  real  water.  'Twill  be  a 
change  from  the  river." 

262 


A  Good  Sport  263 

"I'm  thankful  for  the  river  though,  even  if  I 
have  drunk  all  kinds  of  bugs.  I  guess  we'd  have 
died  without  it  through  all  these  miles  of  sage- 
brush. When  will  the  others  get  home,  do  you 
suppose?" 

"Not  until  late,"  Virginia  answered,  "that  is,  if 
they  wait  for  supper.  I'd  have  loved  to  have  stayed, 
but  William  wants  Pedro  for  the  range  to-morrow, 
and  I  wanted  him  to  have  a  longer  rest.  Besides, 
he  runs  so  with  the  other  horses  and  gets  nervous. 
You  were  a  peach  to  come  with  me,  Vivian.  Right 
in  the  hottest  part  of  the  day,  too." 

Vivian  was  honest. 

"It  wasn't  all  out  of  kindness,"  she  admitted, 
"though,  of  course,  I  love  to  ride  with  you.  I  didn't 
especially  care  about  riding  home  at  night,  and  I 
don't  like  such  a  big  crowd  either.  Siwash  always 
forgets  how  old  he  is,  and  begins  to  act  kittenish, 
and  I  never  know  what  to  do.  I'm  thirsty  again. 
Shall  we  drink  a  few  more  bugs  ?" 

"Might  as  well,  I  suppose,"  Virginia  -replied. 
"Pedro  and  Siwash  seem  ready.  Ugh!  I  got 
one  that  time!  Actually  felt  him  go  down  my 


264     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

throat!  We  ought  not  to  put  water  on  our  faces, 
Vivian.  They're  peeling  now!  Here's  some  cold 
cream !" 

Vivian  squeezed  the  tube  and  smeared  her  glow- 
ing nose,  before  she  again  mounted  Siwash. 

"We  mustn't  drink  any  more  of  the  river,"  she 
said.  "I  feel  like  an  insect  cabinet  already.  Let's 
get  to  the  quaking-asps  as  soon  as  we  can  and 
rest." 

Virginia's  eyes  glowed  with  pride  as  she  watched 
Vivian  mount  Siwash  and  ride  away  from  the 
river.  One  would  never  have  known  it  was  the 
same  Vivian  who  nearly  seven  weeks  ago  had 
begged  to  stay  at  home  from  the  getting-acquainted 
trip.  She  had  learned  to  ride  well  and  easily,  and 
no  apparent  fear,  at  least  of  Siwash,  remained. 
With  still  more  pride  Virginia  saw  her  tanned, 
happy  face,  the  red  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  the 
extra  pounds  which  Wyoming  had  given  her.  The 
Big  Horn  country  had  been  kind  to  Vivian  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  improve  so  in  riding, 
Vivian,"  she  could  not  resist  saying.  "You  do  every 


A  Good  Sport  265 

bit  as  well  as  Priscilla,  and  Don  thinks  she's  a  mar- 
vel. I'm  proud  as  Punch  of  you !" 

Vivian's  cheeks  glowed  redder. 

"I  can't  help  but  be  a  tiny  bit  pleased  with  my- 
self," she  said  hesitatingly,  "at  least  about  the  rid- 
ing. And-— and  there  are  other  things,  too,  Vir- 
ginia. Of  course  I  know  there  have  been  loads 
of  silly  things — Mr.  Crusoe,  for  instance.  I'll  never 
forget  how  awful  that  was,  even  though  you  were 
all  so  fine  about  it.  But  in  spite  of  everything 
foolish,  I  have  learned  things  out  here,  Virginia, 
that  I  never  knew  in  all  my  life.  Mother  and  Fa- 
ther probably  won't  see  any  difference  next  week 
when  I  get  home,  but  there  is  some  just  the  same. 
I'm  not  quite  such  a — a  coward  as  I  was!  I  feel 
it  inside!" 

"I  know  you  do,"  said  Virginia,  riding  Pedro 
closer.  "It  shows  on  your  face,  too.  I  guess  what's 
really  inside  of  us  usually  does.  You're  getting  to 
be  a  good  sport,  Vivian,  and  we're  all  proud  of  it — 
with  you !" 

The  knowledge  of  Virginia's  approval  some- 
how made  the  mid-day  heat  less  intense,  and 


266     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  two  miles  to  the  quaking-asps  less  long.  It 
was  good  to  reach  them,  and  to  lie  at  full 
length  on  the  cool  ground  before  drinking  from 
the  spring  a  few  steps  away.  Pedro  and 
Siwash  were  grateful,  too,  as  they  cropped  the 
sweet,  moist  grass.  A  half  hour  here  would  sus- 
tain them  against  the  three  miles  of  sagebrush  be- 
yond. 

Virginia  and  Vivian  lay  flat  on  their  backs  with 
their  arms  straight  above  their  heads  and  rested, 
as  they  had  been  taught  to  do  at  St.  Helen's.  Above 
them  the  interlaced  branches  of  the  quaking-asps 
shut  out  the  sun.  The  air  was  still  with  that  strange 
stillness  which  sometimes  comes  before  a  storm. 
Even  the  ever-active  leaves  of  the  quaking-asps 
moved  not  at  all. 

"It's  the  stillest  place  I  ever  knew,"  said  Vivian, 
as  she  reached  for  a  cookie.  "How  far  is  it  to  the 
nearest  house?" 

Virginia  considered. 

"Six  miles,"  she  said.  "No,  there's  a  home- 
steader's cabin  nearer.  That's  about  four,  I  guess, 
but  Michner's,  the  cattle  ranch,  is  six.  We  always 


HE   WAS    LEANING   FORWARD    IN   HIS    SADDLE   AND    CLUTCH- 
ING    THE     HORN  " 


A  Good  Sport  267 

call  them  the  nearest  neighbors  from  here.  It  is 
still,  isn't  it?" 

"Awfully!"  returned  Vivian. 

Their  words  were  hardly  finished  when  the  sound 
of  hoofs  broke  the  stillness.  Pedro  and  Siwash 
snorted.  Virginia  and  Vivian  sat  up  quickly — one 
interested,  the  other  alarmed.  Some  one  was  com- 
ing along  the  rough  trail  through  the  sagebrush. 
Some  one  was  very  near!  They  peered  through 
the  quaking-asps.  The  some  one  was  a  lone  cow 
boy  riding  a  buckskin  horse.  He  was  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  saddle  and  clutching  the  horn.  His 
face,  almost  covered  by  the  big  hat  he  wore,  was 
close  to  the  black  mane  of  the  sturdy  little  buckskin. 

From  their  shelter  they  watched  him  draw  near 
with  beating  hearts.  There  was  something  strange 
about  him — strange  as  the  stillness.  They  could 
not  see  that  he  was  guiding  the  horse,  who  appar- 
ently knew  not  only  the  way,  but  her  mission  as 
well.  She  came  straight  toward  the  shady  thicket 
and  stopped  beneath  the  trees  a  few  tods  away 
from  the  two  anxious  spectators.  Her  rider,  con- 
scious perhaps  from  the  halt  that  he  had  reached 


268     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

his  destination,  loosened  his  hold  upon  the  saddle- 
horn,  swung  himself  with  a  mighty  effort  from 
the  saddle,  and  fell  upon  the  ground,  his  hat  all 
unnoticed  falling  from  his  head. 

The  buckskin  was  apparently  worried.  She 
sniffed  the  air  dubiously,  snorted  an  anxious  greet- 
ing to  Pedro  and  Siwash,  and  moved  to  one  side, 
lest  by  mistake  she  should  tread  upon  her  master, 
who  lay  in  a  motionless  heap  close  beside  her.  Then 
Virginia's  quick  eyes  discovered  blood  upon  the 
man's  head  and  face.  She  jumped  to  her  feet. 

"He's  hurt  somehow,  Vivian,"  she  said,  "terri- 
bly hurt,  I'm  afraid.  We  mustn't  leave  him  like 
this.  He  might  die  here  all  alone !  Come  on !  Let's 
see  what  we  can  do." 

Vivian,  too  surprised  to  remonstrate,  followed 
Virginia  through  the  quaking-asps.  The  man  lay 
where  he  had  fallen,  unconscious  of  anything  about 
him.  Blood  was  flowing  from  an  ugly  wound  just 
above  his  forehead.  He  was  a  sad  and  sorry  sight. 
Vivian  shuddered  and  drew  back. 

"Who  is  he,  Virginia?"  she  breathed.  "You 
know  who  he  is,  don't  you?  Oh,  what  are  you 


A  Good  Sport  269 

going  to  do?"  For  Virginia's  strong  young 
arms  were  trying  to  pull  the  man  into  a  more 
comfortable  position,  and  farther  beneath  the 
trees. 

"No,  I  don't  know  who  he  is,"  she  whispered, 
fanning  the  man's  white  face  with  her  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  "That  doesn't  make  any  difference. 
He's  awfully  hurt!  I  thought  at  first  'twas  a  shot, 
but  I  guess  he's  fallen.  It  looks  like  that.  The 
horse  belongs  to  Michner's.  I  know  by  the  brand. 
Fan  him,  Vivian,  while  I  fix  his  head  and  see  if 
he  has  any  whisky  about  him  anywhere." 

The  dazed  and  frightened  Vivian  obediently  took 
the  fan,  and  turning  her  face  away,  frantically 
fanned  the  quaking-asps  until  they  danced  and  flut- 
tered once  more.  Virginia  untied  the  cow  boy's 
slicker  from  the  back  of  the  buckskin's  saddle  and 
folded  it  into  a  pillow,  which  she  placed  beneath 
the  sick  man's  head.  The  buckskin  was  relieved  and 
whinnied  her  thanks.  Then  from  one  pocket  she 
drew  a  small,  leathern  flask  and  shook  it. 

"Empty!"  she  said.  "Hard  luck!  Water  will 
have  to  do.  We  were  careless  to  forget  pur  drink- 


270     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ing-cups.  Rinse  this  flask,  and  get  some  water  from 
the  spring,  Vivian." 

Vivian,  still  waving  the  fan  in  the  air,  brought 
the  water,  which  Virginia  tried  to  pour  between 
the  man's  lips.  It  seemed  to  arouse  him,  for  he 
drank  some  gratefully,  though  without  opening  his 
eyes. 

"I  ought  to  wash  some  of  this  blood  away,"  said 
Virginia,  "but  I  guess  I  won't  take  the  time.  You 
can  do  that  after  I'm  gone.  There's  only  one  thing 
to  do.  We  can't  leave  this  man  here  in  this  con- 
dition. He  might  die  before  any  one  found  him. 
I'll  take  Pedro  and  ride  on  to  Michner's  as  fast 
as  I  can  for  help.  Or,"  she  added,  seeing  Vivian's 
eyes  open  wider,  "you  take  him,  and  I'll  stay  here. 
Either  you  like,  only  we  must  decide  at  once. 
Maybe  we'll  meet  somebody  or  somebody'll  come, 
or  maybe  there'll  be  somebody  at  the  homesteader's 
cabin.  Which  will  you  do,  ride  or  stay?" 

Vivian  had  decided  before  she  looked  at  Pedro. 
She  always  felt  that  Pedro  entertained  scorn  for 
her,  contempt  that  wild  gallops  through  the  sage- 
brush should,  together  with  his  youth  and  speed, 


A  Good  Sport  271 

present  terrors.  She  knew  that  he  despised  her  for 
preferring  Siwash  to  him. 

"I'll  stay,"  she  said  firmly.  "Pedro  will  do  more 
for  you  than  for  me.  When  will  you  be  back?" 

Virginia  was  already  in  the  saddle. 

"Probably  in  little  more  than  an  hour,  if  I  find 
folks,"  she  said.  "Keep  giving  him  some  water  if 
he  needs  it,  and  fan  him.  He  may  come  to. 
Good-by." 

The  sound  of  Pedro's  feet  died  away  all  too 
quickly.  The  stillness  which  followed  was  deeper 
than  ever.  It  fairly  sang  in  the  air.  For  fully  five 
minutes  Vivian  stood  motionless,  loath  to  believe 
that  Virginia  had  gone.  She  did  not  want  to  be 
alone!  Something  inside  of  her  cried  out  against 
it.  But  she  was  alone — she,  Vivian  Winters,  alone 
with  a  dying  cow  boy  on  a  limitless  Wyoming  plain. 
Since  the  relentless  knowledge  pushed  itself  upon 
her,  she  might  as  well  accept  it.  She  was  alone! 
And  there  was  the  cow  boy ! 

Virginia  had  said  that  he  might  come  to!  For 
her  own  sake  she  hoped  he  didn't.  He  was  awful 
enough  as  he  was — blood-smeared  and  dirty — but 


272     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

at  least  he  did  not  realize  the  situation,  and  that  was 
a  scant  comfort.  If  he  came  to,  he  might  be  in- 
sane. Blows  on  the  head  often  made  persons  so. 
Given  insanity  and  a  gun,  what  would  be  the 
demonstration  ? 

A  low  groan  from  the  quaking-asp  thicket  brought 
Vivian  to  herself.  Imagination  had  no  place  here. 
This  man  was  hurt,  and  she  was  strong  and  well. 
There  was  a  spring  of  water  near  by,  and  she  had 
extra  handkerchiefs  in  her  pocket.  It  was  plainly 
up  to  her ! 

The  stillness  was  less  persistent  after  she  had 
gone  to  the  spring  for  water.  She  forgot  all  about 
it  as  she  knelt  beside  the  wounded  man  and  washed 
the  blood  from  his  pain-distorted  face.  He  opened 
his  eyes  as  he  felt  the  cold  cloths,  and  Vivian  saw 
that  they  were  good,  blue  eyes.  They,  together  with 
the  absence  of  blood  and  dirt,  told  her  that  her  pa- 
tient was  young — only  a  boy,  in  fact!  The  cut 
on  his  head  was  ugly!  Something  fluttered  inside 
of  her  as  she  parted  his  hair  to  place  a  clean  hand- 
kerchief upon  it,  and  for  a  moment  she  was  ill  and 
faint.  The  cow  boy's  "Thank  you,  miss,"  brought 


A  Good  Sport  273 

her  to  herself.  Perhaps  he  was  coming  to !  It  was 
not  so  awful  as  she  had  thought. 

But  he  again  fell  asleep,  cleaner  and  more  com- 
fortable than  before.  The  buckskin  whinnied  her 
thanks,  and  put  her  nose  against  Vivian's  arm  as 
she  went  to  the  spring  for  more  water.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Vivian  felt  the  comradeship, 
the  dumb  understanding  of  a  horse.  Then  Siwash 
became  glorified.  He  was  something  more  than  a 
ragged,  decrepit  old  pony.  He  was  a  companion, 
and  Vivian  stopped  to  pat  him  before  she  hurried 
back  to  her  patient. 

Upon  her  return  from  her  third  journey  after 
water,  she  found  the  cow  boy's  eyes  again  open. 
This  time  he  had  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and 
was  looking  at  her.  He  had  come  to,  and  it  was 
not  horrible  at  all.  Her  only  feeling  was  one  of 
alarm  lest  his  sitting  up  should  cause  his  wound  to 
bleed  again,  and  she  hurried  to  him. 

"You're  feeling  better,  aren't  you?"  she  faltered. 
"But  you'd  better  lie  down.  You've  got  a  pretty 
bad  cut  on  your  head." 

The  boy  smiled  in  a  puzzled  way. 


274     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"I  don't  seem  to  remember  much,"  he  said,  "ex- 
cept the  header.  My  horse  fell  when  I  wa'n't 
expectin'  it,  and  I  went  on  a  rock.  'Twas  the  only 
one  on  the  prairie,  I  guess,  but  it  got  me  for  sure. 
What  are  you  doin'  here,  miss?  I  don't  seem  to 
remember  you." 

Vivian  explained  as  simply  as  possible.  She  and 
her  friend  had  been  resting  when  his  horse  brought 
him  to  the  quaking-asps.  One  of  them  had  gone 
for  help,  and  the  other  had  stayed.  She  was  the 
other. 

"You're  not  from  these  parts,  I  take  it,"  said  the 
boy,  still  puzzled.  "You  don't  speak  like  us  folks." 

"No,"  Vivian  told  him,  "I'm  from  the  East.  I 
came  out  here  six  weeks  ago  to  visit  my  friend." 

Her  patient  looked  surprised  and  raised  himself 
again  on  his  elbow  in  spite  of  Vivian's  restraining 
hand. 

"So  much  of  a  tenderfoot  as  that?"  he  said,  gaz- 
ing at  her.  "They  ain't  usually  such  good  sports 
as  you  are,  miss.  Yes,  thank  you,  I'll  have  some 
more  water.  It's  right  good,  I  tell  you !" 

Then  he  fell  asleep  again,  and  left  Vivian  to  the 


A  Good  Sport  275 

companionship  of  Si  wash  and  the  buckskin.  Her 
patient  comfortable,  she  fed  them  the  remaining 
cookies,  wondering  as  she  did  so  where  the  awful 
sense  of  loneliness  had  gone.  She  should  welcome 
Virginia — already  it  was  time  for  her — but  the 
knowledge  that  she  must  stay  another  hour  would 
not  present  such  terrors  to  her. 

It  was  Siwash  who  first  caught  the  sound  of  re- 
turning hoofs — Siwash  and  the  relieved  buckskin. 
They  neighed  and  told  Vivian,  who  ran  from  the 
thicket  to  see  if  they  were  right.  Yes,  there  was 
Virginia,  with  Pedro  still  in  the  lead,  and  two  men 
on  horseback  behind  her.  She  had  luckily  met  them 
a  mile  this  side  of  Michner's,  and  hurried  them  back 
with  her.  The  cow  boy  had  again  raised  himself, 
as  they  rode  up  to  him  and  dismounted.  He  was 
better,  for  he  could  look  sheepish!  This  being 
thrown  from  one's  horse  was  a  foolish  thing! 

They  would  stay  with  him,  the  men  said.  They 
knew  him  well.  He  was  called  "Scrapes"  at  Mich- 
ner's because  he  was  always  getting  into  trouble. 
This  last  was  the  worst  yet.  They  would  camp  there 
that  night,  and  in  the  morning  he  could  ride  home, 


276     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

they  felt  sure.  They  were  grateful  to  the  girls. 
Scrapes  was  a  likeable  chap,  and  no  one  wanted 
him  hurt. 

But  Scrapes  himself  was  the  most  grateful.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  as  Vivian  went  up  to  tell  him 
good-by  and  shook  hands  with  her,  and  then  with 
Virginia.  But  his  eyes  were  for  Vivian. 

"You're  the  best  tenderfoot  I  ever  knew,  miss," 
he  said.  "You  was  sure  some  good  sport  to  take 
care  o'  me.  Would  you  take  my  quirt?  It's  bran 
new,  and  I  made  it  all  myself.  Get  it  off  my  horn, 
Jim.  Yes,  I  want  you  to  have  it.  Good-by !" 

"Scrapes  is  right,"  said  Virginia,  as  they  left  the 
thicket  and  started  homeward.  "I  said  a  while  ago 
that  you  were  getting  to  be  one,  Vivian,  but  now 
I  know  you've  got  there — for  sure!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CARVER   STANDISH   III   FITS   IN 

CARVER  STANDISH  III  hated  the  world,  himself, 
and  everybody  else — at  least,  he  thought  he  did.  In 
fact,  he  had  been  so  sure  of  it  all  day  that  no  one 
had  attempted  any  argument  on  the  subject.  Jack, 
unable  to  maneuver  a  fishing-trip  and  secretly  glad 
of  an  escape,  had  ridden  over  to  Mary  with  some 
much-needed  mending ;  Donald  had  been  glad  to  ride 
on  the  range  on  an  errand  for  his  father ;  Mr.  Keith 
was  in  town;  the  whereabouts  of  Malcolm  could 
easily  be  guessed. 

Carver,  in  white  trousers  and  a  crimson  Gordon 
sweater,  was  idly  roaming  about  the  ranch  in  search 
of  any  diversion  which  might  present  itself,  and 
which  did  not  require  any  too  much  exertion.  For 
two  weeks  and  more  things  had  not  been  going  well 
with  him.  His  stay  in  Wyoming  was  not  closing 
so  happily  as  it  had  begun — all  due,  he  admitted  to 
himself,  to  a  missed  opportunity.  For  had  he  seized 

877 


278     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

the  chance  when  it  was  given  him  on  the  morning 
after  that  disastrous  night  on  the  mountain,  and 
taken  the  laugh  he  had  so  richly  deserved,  by  now 
the  incident,  like  Vivian's  affair  with  Mr.  Crusoe, 
would  be  forgotten.  Instead,  he  had  accepted  ill- 
gotten  commendation,  and  received  with  it  the  well- 
disguised  scorn  of  Virginia.  This  last  was  the  worst 
of  all. 

He  wandered  down  to  the  corral.  If  there  were 
a  horse  around  he  might  change  his  clothes  and 
ride.  Dave  was  there,  repairing  some  harnesses. 
There  were  no  horses  down,  he  said,  except  old 
Ned.  They  were  all  on  the  range.  Carver  might 
ride  Ned,  or  take  him  to  round  up  the  others.  For 
a  moment  Carver  thought  of  asking  Dave  to  do  the 
service  for  him,  but  the  determined  set  of  the  old 
Scotchman's  jaw  warned  him  in  time.  Dave  was 
averse  to  taking  orders  from  a  tenderfoot.  It  was 
too  much  like  work,  Carver  concluded,  to  round  up 
a  decent  horse,  and  to  ride  Ned  would  not  alleviate 
his  present  mood.  He  would  walk. 

Old  Dave,  intent  on  his  harnesses,  did  not  see 
Carver  jump  the  farther  boundary  of  the  corral. 


Carver  Standish  III  Fits  In      279 

Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have  shouted  a  warn- 
ing not  to  stray  too  far  on  foot  across  the  range. 
The  cattle  were  being  driven  farther  down  toward 
the  ranch,  and  they  were  often  averse  to  solitary- 
persons  on  foot. 

Carver,  all  unperceived,  climbed  the  foot-hills,  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
It  was  all  a  bad  mess,  he  thought,  and  how  to  get 
out  of  it,  he  didn't  know.  Of  one  thing  he  was 
certain :  the  West  was  not  the  place  for  him.  The 
dreams  in  which  he  had  lived  only  three  weeks  ago 
— dreams  of  opening  a  branch  of  his  father's  busi- 
ness in  the  West  when  he  should  have  finished  col- 
lege— had  vanished.  He  had  now  decided  he  was 
born  to  remain  a  New  Englander.  There  were 
things  about  the  West  which  he  didn't  like — blunt, 
unpolished,  new  things.  Of  course  these  ranchers 
didn't  mind  crudities.  They  could  fraternize  with 
ordinary  cow-punchers.  Even  Donald  could  do 
that.  But  he  had  been  reared  differently.  He  struck 
his  toe  against  a  rock,  which  he  kicked  savagely  out 
of  his  way.  No,  the  Standishes  were  New  Eng- 
landers,  and  there  they  would  remain  t 


280     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

He  reached  the  brow  of  the  first  foot-hills,  crossed 
an  open  space,  and  climbed  others  to  the  open  range 
above.  When  he  again  reached  a  level  he  stopped 
in  surprise.  Never  had  he  seen  so  many  cattle. 
There  were  literally  hundreds  of  them.  Where  had 
they  all  come  from?  He  stood  still  and  stared  at 
them,  and  they  with  one  accord  stopped  browsing 
and  stared  at  him.  They  were  unaccustomed  to  per- 
sons strolling  on  foot  across  their  preserves.  For 
an  instant  Carver  Standish  felt  a  strange  sense  of 
fear.  There  was  something  portentous  in  the  way 
a  big  red  and  white  bull  in  the  foreground  was  star- 
ing at  him.  Then  he  saw  Donald  on  horseback  off 
to  the  right,  and  waved  his  hand.  But  Donald,  spy- 
ing the  white  trousers  and  the  red  sweater  in  the 
same  instant,  did  not  stop  to  wave.  Instead,  he 
struck  MacDuff  with  his  spur,  skirted  the  cattle 
nearest  him,  and  rode  madly  down  toward  Carver 
and  those  ahead. 

"He's  crazy,"  he  said  to  himself,  "coming  up  here 
in  that  rig  and  afoot.  Old  Rex  will  never  stand  it 
for  a  moment." 

He  was  right.  Old  Rex  had  not  the  slightest  inten- 


Carver  Standish  III  Fits  In       281 

tion  of  standing  it.  He  ate  no  more,  but  with  low- 
ered head  gazed  at  this  curiously  clad  intruder,  who 
was  hesitating,  not  knowing  whether  to  advance  or 
to  turn  back.  Old  Rex  decided  for  him.  He  did 
the  advancing.  One  shake  of  his  heavy  head, 
crowned  with  long,  sharp  horns,  one  cloud  of  dust 
as  he  pawed  the  ground,  and  one  tremendous  bellow 
warned  Carver  Standish  III  to  do  no  tarrying  in 
that  locality. 

A  shout  from  Donald  following  Old  Rex's  roar 
determined  Carver's  direction.  He  fled  toward 
MacDuff  at  a  speed  which  would  have  won  any 
twenty-five  yard  cup  in  New  England!  Old  Rex 
followed.  The  other  cattle,  curiously  enough  and 
much  to  Donald's  relief,  let  their  champion  fight  it 
out  alone. 

Donald,  every  moment  drawing  nearer,  freed  his 
left  foot  from  the  stirrup.  Carver  must  somehow 
be  made  to  jump  behind  the  saddle,  and  jump  quick ! 
There  was  not  an  instant  to  lose.  Old  Rex  was 
gaining,  and  Carver  was  growing  tired.  It  was  too 
hot  up  there  for  a  red  sweater.  With  the  bull  a 
scant  thirty  feet  away  Donald  pulled  in  MacDuff, 


282     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

and  yelled  to  Carver  to  jump,  which  he  did,  aided 
by  the  stirrup,  Donald's  arm,  and  the  last  bit  of 
ancestral  nerve  he  possessed.  When  Old  Rex, 
baffled  and  defeated,  saw  his  foe  being  championed 
by  one  whom  he  full  well  knew,  it  took  but  a  yell 
from  Donald  and  a  mighty  crack  of  his  quirt  to 
send  him  back  among  the  herd. 

There  seemed  little  enough  to  say  as  MacDuff 
bore  his  double  load  down  over  the  hills  to  the  lower 
range,  where  white  trousers  and  red  sweaters  might 
be  countenanced.  But  something  had  returned  to 
Carver,  something  which  for  two  weeks  had  been 
on  a  vacation.  As  they  neared  the  home  foot-hills, 
he  slid  from  MacDuff. 

"If  you're  not  in  a  hurry,  Don,"  he  said,  "let's 
rest  here  a  minute.  MacDuff  is  tired,  I  know,  and 
there  are  some  things  I  want  to  get  straightened 
out  before  we  go  down  home." 

The  next  afternoon  while  Jack  searched  the  ranch 
for  his  scattered  possessions  and  tried  in  vain  to 
stow  them  all  away  in  his  trunk,  while  three  crest- 
fallen girls  packed  at  the  Hunter  ranch,  Carver, 


"  DONALD   PULLED   IN   MACDUFF,   AND   YELLED   TO   CARVER   TO 

JUMP  " 


Carver  Standish  III  Fits  In      283 

fresh  from  an  interview  with  Mr.  Keith,  sat  down 
to  write  his  father.  The  letter,  received  four  days 
later  in  place  of  its  author  by  the  Standish  family, 
brought  surprise  and  consternation  in  its  wake. 

"I  simply  can't  understand  it,"  said  Mrs.  Carver 
Standish  II,  on  the  verge  of  hysterical  tears.  "I've 
never  known  him  to  do  such  a  thing  before.  There's 
Ruth  Sherman's  house-party  coming  off,  and  the 
St.  Clair  wedding,  and  the  tennis  tournament, 
and  our  trip  to  the  Adirondacks — and  everything! 
Whatever  shall  I  tell  people  who  inquire?  There's 
something  wrong  with  him,  Carver!  I  never  did 
want  him  to  go  to  that  place,  anyway.  You'd  bet- 
ter wire !" 

"I  can't  see  but  that  it's  plain  enough,"  said  his 
father.  "He  simply  prefers  threshing  on  a  Wyo- 
ming ranch  to  a  house-party  or  a  wedding  or  a  ten- 
nis tournament  or  the  Adirondacks.  Let  him  alone. 
Maybe  a  little  work  won't  hurt  him." 

"Hurt  him !"  cried  a  certain  gray-haired  old  gen- 
tleman, slapping  his  knees.  "Hurt  him !  It'll  be  the 
best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  him,  in  my  opinion ! 
Work,  and  being  with  that  little  girl  out  there !" 


284     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

"And  I  did  so  want  Mrs.  Van  Arsdale  to  see 
him !"  continued  his  mother.  "I'd  planned  all  sorts  of 
things  for  September.  Read  the  letter  again,  Carver." 

Mr.  Carver  Standish  II  read  the  letter.  It  was 
brief  and  to  the  point. 

"  'DEAR  DAD  : 

"  'I'm  not  coming  home  till  school  opens.  I'm 
going  to  stay  out  here  and  help  thresh.  Mr. 
Keith  is  short  on  hands,  and  he  says  I'll  do.  I 
wanted  to  help  for  nothing,  they've  all  been  so 
good  to  me — but  he  says  I  mustn't.  You  needn't 
send  me  any  money,  because  I'm  going  to  be  earn- 
ing two  dollars  a  day,  and  maybe  three  if  I'm  any 
good.  Please  don't  let  Mother  object.  It  won't 
do  any  good  anyhow,  because  I've  already  signed 
a  contract  to  stay.  Mr.  Keith  didn't  want  to  draw 
it  up,  but  I  insisted.  He  does  it  with  the  other 
men,  and  I'm  no  better  than  the  rest. 

"  'I've  got  a  great  scheme  about  bringing  the 
business  West  when  I'm  through  college.  It  sure 
is  some  country  out  here !  Love  to  Grandfather. 

"  'CARVER.'  " 


Carver  Standish  III  Fits  In      285 

That  Carver  Standish  III  preferred  threshing  on 
a  Wyoming  ranch  to  a  house-party  was  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  at  every  social  affair  for  a 
week  and  more.  Poor  Mrs.  Carver  Standish  II 
found  explanations  most  difficult. 

"Carver's  so  in  love  with  the  country  and  riding 
and  all  that  he  just  won't  come  back,"  she  said. 

But  Carver's  grandfather,  the  old  Colonel,  found 
no  such  difficulty. 

"My  grandson,"  he  said,  his  fine  head  thrown 
back,  and  his  blue  eyes  glowing  with  pride,  "my 
grandson  is  discovering  the  dignity  of  labor  on  a 
Wyoming  ranch!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

COMRADES 

WYOMING,  to  be  appreciated,  should  be  explored 
on  horseback  and  not  viewed  from  the  observation 
platform  of  a  limited  train.  Barren  stretches  of 
sagebrush  and  cactus,  and  grim,  ugly  buttes  guard 
too  well  the  secret  that  golden  wheat-fields  lie  be- 
yond them;  the  rugged,  faraway  mountains  never 
tell  that  their  canyon-cut  sides  are  clothed  with  tim- 
ber and  carpeted  with  a  thousand  flowers ;  and  tired, 
dusty  travelers,  quite  unaware  of  these  things,  find 
themselves  actually  longing  for  Nebraska  to  break 
the  monotony! 

The  half-dozen  weary  persons  who  on  the  after- 
noon of  September  6th  sat  on  the  observation  plat- 
form of  the  Puget  Sound  Limited,  together  with  the 
scores  who  peered  from  its  windows  in  vain  search 
of  something  besides  sagebrush,  were  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  To  a  man,  they  were  all  giving  fervent 

286 


Comrades  287 

thanks  that  Fate  had  cast  their  lots  in  California 
or  New  England  or,  at  the  worst,  Iowa.  The  assur' 
ances  of  the  brakeman,  who  was  loquacious  beyond 
his  kind,  that  once  past  Elk  Creek  they  would  strike 
a  better  country  brought  some  much-needed  cheer- 
fulness; and  Elk  Creek  itself  afforded  such  amuse- 
ment and  entertainment  that  they  really  began  to 
have  a  better  impression  of  Wyoming.  Apparently, 
there  were  civilized  persons  even  in  so  desolate  an 
environment  as  this! 

The  sources  of  their  entertainment,  for  they  were 
several,  stood  on  the  little  station  platform  at  Elk 
Creek.  The  central  figure  was  a  tall,  middle-aged 
man,  whose  hands  were  filled  with  trunk  checks 
and  tickets,  and  to  whom  three  very  excited  girls 
were  saying  good-by  all  at  the  same  time.  Three 
boys,  two  in  khaki  and  one  in  traveling  clothes, 
were  shaking  hands  heartily;  a  fresh-faced  young 
woman  with  marigolds  at  her  waist  stood  a  little 
apart  from  the  others  and  talked  earnestly  with  a 
tall  young  man;  and  a  hatless,  brown-haired  girl 
in  a  riding  suit  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once. 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  think  it's  all  over!"  the  inter- 


288     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ested  travelers  heard  her  say,  as  she  embraced  the 
three  girls  in  turn.  "It's  been  absolutely  the  most 
perfect  six  weeks  I've  ever,  ever  known.  Don't  lose 
your -quirt,  Vivian!  And  don't  leave  Allan's  knife 
around,  Mary.  It  isn't  fair  to  tempt  even  a  porter. 
You'll  write  from  every  large  place,  won't  you, 
Priscilla?" 

In  spite  of  an  amused  and  impatient  conductor, 
the  last-named  girl  turned  back  for  a  last  hug.  Her 
hat  was  askew,  her  brown  hair  disheveled,  and  her 
brown  eyes  full  of  tears,  which  were  coursing  freely 
down  her  cheeks. 

"Oh,  Virginia,"  she  cried,  "you're  the  biggest 
peach  I  ever  knew!  Remember,  you're  going  to 
think  of  me  every  night  at  seven  o'clock.  It'll  be 
nine  for  me  in  Boston,  but  I'll  not  forget.  And  it's 
only  three  weeks  before  I  see  you  again.  That's 
a  comfort!" 

She  hurried  toward  the  waiting  train,  at  the 
steps  of  which  a  boy  in  khaki  stood  ready  to  help 
her. 

"Good-by,  Carver,"  she  cried,  shaking  hands  for 
at  least  the  fourth  time.  "I'm  going  to  see  your 


Comrades  289 

grandfather  the  very  first  thing  and  tell  him  what 
a  good  sport  you  are!" 

A  mad  rush  for  the  observation  platform  ensued 
— the  three  girls,  the  boy,  and  the  young  woman 
reaching  it  just  in  time  to  wave  good-by  to  those 
left  behind.  The  brown-eyed  girl  swept  the  faces 
of  her  fellow  travelers  at  one  glance,  nodded  to  the 
interested  brakeman  with  a  surprised  and  pleased 
smile,  and  then,  just  as  the  train  began  to  move, 
hurried  to  the  railing. 

"Oh,  Virginia!"  she  cried  to  the  girl  in  the  riding- 
suit.  "What  do  you  think !  I've  got  the  very  same 
brakeman!  Doesn't  that  make  the  ending  just 
perfect?" 

Two  hours  later  a  boy  and  a  girl  on  horseback 
forded  Elk  Creek,  rode  up  the  Valley,  and  to  the 
summit  of  the  highest  foot-hill. 

"I'm  glad  we  rode  up  here,"  said  Virginia.  "I'm 
missing  them  already,  and  to  be  up  here  with  you 
helps  a  lot!  Do  you  remember  a  year  ago,  Don? 
'Twas  in  this  very  spot  that  we  planned  and  planned, 
and  the  day  was  just  like  this,  too — all  clear  and 


290     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

golden.  It  just  seems  as  though  every  year  is  love- 
lier than  the  last,  and  this  one  has  been  the  very 
loveliest  of  all  my  life." 

"I  guess,"  said  Donald  thoughtfully,  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  saddle  to  pat  MacDuff,  "I  guess  it's  been 
the  best  of  my  life,  too,  counting  this  summer  and 
all.  Last  year  at  school  was  great,  with  college 
always  ahead — .sort  of  a  dream  almost  true,  you 
know.  And  then  to  have  Jack  and  Carver  here, 
and  all  the  girls  with  you,  finished  everything  up 
just  right.  But  the  best  part  of  the  year  to  me, 
Virginia,"  he  finished  hesitatingly,  "was  June  when 
you  came  back,  and  I  found  you  weren't  a  young 
lady  after  all.  I  was  some  glad,  I  tell  you!" 

Virginia's  gray  eyes  looked  at  the  mountains, 
swept  the  golden  prairie  stretches,  and  lingered  for 
a  long  moment  on  the  cottonwoods  which  bordered 
Elk  Creek  before  they  came  back  to  Donald's  blue 
ones. 

"I'm  glad,  too,"  she  said  simply. 

Pedro  and  MacDuff  sniffed  the  September  air  and 
gloried  in  it.  They  were  impatient  for  a  wild  run 
across  the  brow  of  the  hills,  and  wondered  why  their 


Comrades  291 

riders  chose  to  look  so  long  at  the  mountains  on 
such  an  afternoon  as  this.  If  they  sat  so  silently 
much  longer,  there  would  be  no  time  to  make  the 
mesa,  to  gallop  across  its  wide  surface,  and  at  last, 
perhaps,  to  have  supper  among  the  sagebrush  with 
Robert  Bruce.  They  felt  somewhat  encouraged 
when  Virginia  began  to  speak. 

"I've  been  trying  to  decide  the  very  loveliest 
thing  of  all  the  year,"  she  said.  "I  mean  from 
September  to  June.  I  don't  know  whether  'twas 
the  Vigilantes  or  Miss  Wallace  or  Grandmother 
Webster,  but  I'm  almost  sure  'twas  Grandmother 
Webster  learning  to  love  Father.  The  others  were 
joys  for  me,  but  that  was  one  for  all  of  us.  Of 
course  we  know  the  loveliest  thing  of  this  summer. 
Everything's  been  perfect,  but  Aunt  Nan  and  Mal- 
colm the  most  perfect  of  all.  Yesterday,  when 
Grandmother  Webster's  letter  came,  I  just  cried  for 
joy,  it  was  so  lovely ! 

"I — I  couldn't  help  comparing  it  with  the  one  she 
wrote  Mother  about  Father,"  she  continued,  a  little 
break  in  her  voice.  "I  found  it — afterward — in 
Mother's  things.  She  didn't  understand  at  all  then. 


292     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

I  guess  it  takes  some  people  a  long  time  to  under- 
stand things.  But  I'm  going  to  try  to  forget  that, 
because  Grandmother  Webster  knows  now  just  how 
splendid  Father  is.  Besides,"  she  finished  thought- 
fully, "it's  going  to  be  very  hard  for  Grandmother 
to  give  Aunt  Nan  up.  I  guess  we  can't  even  imagine 
how  hard  it's  going  to  be." 

"Of  course  we  can't.  I  think  it's  fine  of  her  to 
take  it  the  way  she  does.  What  relation  will  that 
make  you  and  me?"  he  finished  practically. 

"Priscilla  and  I  figured  it  all  out.  You're  no  rela- 
tion at  all — just  my  uncle's  brother.  Makes  you 
sound  about  forty-five,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"It  doesn't  sound  exactly  young.  When  do  you 
suppose  it  will  happen?" 

"Aunt  Nan  doesn't  know.  Malcolm  says  Christ- 
mas, but  she  says  no,  she  must  have  a  year  with 
Grandmother.  So  I  think  it  will  be  in  June — just 
after  school  is  out.  Webster  is  lovely  then — all 
filled  with  daisies  and  buttercups  and  wild  roses. 
And  you'll  come  on,  Don — of  course  you  will.  And 
Priscilla  will  be  there,  and  Mary  and  Vivian  and 
Carver  and  Jack  and  maybe  Dorothy !  I  want  you 


Comrades  293 

to  see  Dorothy.  Oh,  won't  it  be  the  happiest  time  ? 
I'm  getting  excited  already!" 

"The  horses  want  to  go,"  said  Donald.  "I'll  race 
you  to  the  edge  of  the  mesa.  Come  on!" 

Five  minutes  later  they  looked  at  each  other,  red- 
cheeked  and  radiant. 

"In  together,  just  as  usual,"  cried  Donald. 
"There's  never  much  difference !" 

"My  hair  makes  me  think  of  Priscilla,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, brushing  back  some  loose  locks  and  re-tying 
her  ribbon.  "Wasn't  she  funny  this  afternoon  when 
she  said  good-by,  her  hat  on  one  side  and  her  hair 
all  falling  down,  and  her  eyes  full  of  tears?  I  can't 
help  saying  all  over  and  over  how  lovely  it's  been. 
And  now  another  year's  beginning,  and  in  two 
weeks  more  you  and  I  will  go  away  to  school  again. 
I'm  wondering,"  she  finished  thoughtfully,  "I'm 
wondering  if  next  June,  when  we  ride  up  here,  you'll 
say  that  I'm  not  a  young  lady  after  all." 

"You  don't  feel  you're  going  to  be — too  grown- 
up, do  you?"  There  was  anxiety  in  Donald's 
tone. 

"No,  not  in  the  way  you  mean,"  Virginia  prom- 


294     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

ised  him.  "Not  ever  like  Imogene  or  TCatrina  Van 
Rensaelar.  But  I  am  growing  up!  I  feel  it  com- 
ing? It's  just  as  though  I'd  met  my  older  self  and 
shaken  hands  with  her  before  she  went  away  again, 
for,  you  see,  she  hasn't  come  to  stay  for  keeps  yet. 
I  think  she  came  the  first  time  when  Jim  went  away, 
and  then  again  at  Easter  time  when  Miss  King 
talked  to  us  at  Vespers,  and  then  this  summer  when 
Aunt  Nan  told  me  about  Malcolm.  That  time  she 
stayed  longest  of  all." 

"I  hope  she  won't  be  a  lot  different  from  you," 
said  Donald.  "I  shouldn't  want  to  have  to  get  ac- 
quainted all  over  again." 

"You  won't,"  Virginia  assured  him.  "Only  she 
knows  a  lot  more  than  I  know,  and  she's  told  me  a 
great  many  things  already.  That  night  on  the 
mountain  she  came  and  stayed  with  me  while  Vivian 
and  Carver  were  asleep.  I  learned  so  many  things 
that  night,  Don.  I'm  just  sure  she  taught  them  to 
me — she  and  the  night  and  the  stillness."  Her  voice 
softened.  "Somehow,  away  up  there  on  the  moun- 
tain, life  seemed  such  a  big,  wonderful  thing — all 
full  of  dreams  and  opportunities  and  surprises  and 


Comrades  295 

— and  comrades,  all  going  along  the  same  trail. 
Don't  you  like  to  think  of  life  as  a  trail — like 
the  kind  that  leads  to  Lone  Mountain,  I  mean — all 
full  of  dangers  and  surprises  and  beautiful 
things?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  simply.  His  eyes  as  he  watched 
her  filled  with  pride  in  their  comradeship — his  and 
hers. 

"And,  oh,  that  makes  me  think!"  she  cried  ex- 
citedly. "I've  forgotten  to  tell  you  about  the  poem 
Miss  Wallace  sent  me  yesterday.  You  see,  I'm  col- 
lecting lovely  ones,  and  she's  such  a  help  in  sending 
them  to  me.  I  learned  this  one  to  say  to  you.  Of 
course  she  didn't  know,  but  it's  just  like  we  were 
the  Christmas  before  I  went  away  to  school  when 
you  were  home  for  the  holidays.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  we  went  for  Christmas  greens  up  Bear 
Canyon  in  that  big  snow-storm  and  didn't  get  home 
until  long  after  dark,  and  how  Jim  and  William 
were  just  starting  to  hunt  for  us  ?  Listen !  I  know 
you'll  like  it.  It's  called  'Comrades.' 

"  'You  need  not  say  one  word  to  me  as  up  the  hill  we  go 
(Night-time,  white-time,  all  in  the  whispering  snow), 


296     Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley 

You  need  not  say  one  word  to  me,  although  the  whisper- 
ing trees 

Seem  strange  and  old  as  pagan  priests  in  swaying  mys- 
teries. 

"  'You  need  not  think  one  thought  of  me  as  up  the  trail 

we  go 

(Hill-trail,  still-trail,  all  in  the  hiding  snow), 
You  need  not  think  one  thought  of  me,  although  a  hare 

runs  by, 
And  off  behind  the  tumbled  cairn  we  hear  a  red  fox  cry. 

"  'Oh,  good  and  rare  it  is  to  feel  as  through  the  night 

we  go 

(Wild-wise,  child-wise,  all  in  the  secret  snow) 
That  we  are  free  of  heart  and  foot  as  hare  and  fox  are 

free, 
And  yet  that  I  am  glad  of  you,  and  you  are  glad  of 

me !' " 

"Don't  you  like  it,  Don?"  she  finished  eagerly.  "I 
do.  I  like  it  because  I  think  it  shows  the  finest  kind 
of  friendship — the  kind  that  makes  you  free  to  do 
just  what  seems  right  and  best  to  you,  and  yet  makes 
you  glad  of  your  friends.  Miss  Wallace  calls  it 
the  friendship  which  doesn't  demand,  and  it's  her 
ideal,  too.  I'm  sure  she  was  thinking  of  that  when 
she  sent  me  the  poem.  And  then  I  like  it  most 


Comrades  297 

of  all  because  it  makes  me  think  of  that  Christmas, 
and  the  good  time  we  had.  Don't  you  like  it?" 
she  repeated. 

In  her  eagerness  she  was  all  unconscious  that  she 
had  given  him  no  time  to  reply. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I  should  say  I  do  like  it.  I 
guess  I'll  copy  it,  if  you  don't  mind.  And,  Vir- 
ginia," he  added,  hesitating,  "you  don't  know  what 
our  comradeship  means  to  me.  You  see,  when  a 
fellow  goes  away  to  college  the  way  I'm  going,  it 
helps  him  to  be — to  be  on  the  square  in  everything, 
if  he  has  a  comrade  like — like  you've  always  been." 

But  there  was  no  hesitation — only  gladness  in 
Virginia's  frank  gray  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  cried,  her  face  flooded 
with  happiness.  "That's  the  very  kind  of  a  comrade 
I  want  to  be,  Don!  I  like  to  feel  just  as  it  says 
in  the  poem : 

"  'That  we  are  free  of  heart  and  foot  as  hare  and  fox  are 

free, 

And  yet  that  I  am  glad  of  you,  and  you  are  glad  of 
me !' " 

THE  END 


VIRGINIA  OF  ELK  CREEK 
VALLEY 

— _ 

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m 


A  sequel  to  last  year's  success,  THE  GIRL  FROM 
THE  BIG  HORN  COUNTRY  (sixth  printing).  This 
new  story  is  more  western  in  flavor  than  the  first  book 
— 'Since  practically  all  of  the  action  occurs  back  in 
the  Big  Horn  country,  at  Virginia's  home,  to  which 
she  invites  her  eastern  friends  for  a  summer  vacation. 
The  vacation  in  the  West  proves  "  the  best  ever "  for 
the  Easterners,  and  in  recounting  their  pleasures  they 
tell  of  the  hundreds  of  miles  of  horseback  riding,  how 
they  climbed  mountains,  trapped  a  bear,  shot  gophers, 
fished,  camped,  homesteaded,  and  of  the  delightful  hospi- 
tality of  Virginia  and  her  friends. 

"  The  story  is  full  of  life  and  movement  and  presents 
a  variety  of  interesting  characters."  —  St.  Paul  Despatch. 


"  This  is  most  gladsome  reading  to  all  who  love  health- 
fulness  of  mind,  heart  and  body."  —  Boston  Ideas. 


PLACE  IN  THE  SUN 


JXCrs.  Henry 


Author   of  "The   Career  of  Dr.    Weaver,"   "The  Rose 
of  Roses"  etc. 


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Gunda  Karoli  is  a  very  much  alive  young  person  with 
a  zest  for  life  and  looking-forward  philosophy  which 
helps  her  through  every  trial.  She  is  sustained  in  her 
struggles  against  the  disadvantage  of  her  birth  by  a 
burning  faith  in  the  great  American  ideal  —  that  here 
in  the  United  States  every  one  has  a  chance  to  win  for 
himself  a  place  in  the  sun. 

Gunda  takes  for  her  gospel  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, only  to  find  that,  although  this  democratic 
doctrine  is  embodied  in  the  constitution  of  the  country, 
it  does  not  manifest  itself  outwardly  in  its  social  life. 
Nevertheless,  she  succeeds  in  mounting  step  by  step  in 
the  social  scale,  from  the  time  she  first  appears  at  Sky- 
land  on  the  Knobs  as  a  near-governess,  to  her  brief 
season  in  the  metropolis  as  a  danseuse. 

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Selections  from 

The  Page  Company's 

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ELEANOR  H.  PORTER 

POLLYANNA:  The  GLAD  Book     (360,000) 

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anna  has  gone  away,  you  get  her  letter  saying  she  is  going  to 
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you  may  do,  but  I  know  of  one  person  who  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  shook  with  the  gladdest  sort  of  sadness  and 
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ANNE  OF  THE  BLOSSOM  SHOP:  Or, The  Growing 

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ANNE'S  WEDDING 

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NOVELS  BY 

DAISY  RHODES  CAMPBELL 
THE  FIDDLING   GIRL 

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THE  PROVING   OF  VIRGINIA 

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THE  VIOLIN  LADY 

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will  be  shared  by  many  others." —  Boston  Transcript. 


NOVELS  BY 
OTHER  AUTHORS 

THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  BIG  HORN  COUNTRY 

By  MARY  ELLEN  CHASE. 

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"  The  Girl  from  the  Big  Horn  Country'  tells  how  Virginia 
Hunter,  a  bright,  breezy,  frank-hearted  'girl  of  the  Golden  West' 
comes  out  of  the  Big  Horn  country  of  Wyoming  to  the  old  Bay 
State.  Then  things  begin,  when  Virginia  —  who  feels  the 
joyous,  exhilarating  call  of  the  Big  Horn  wilderness  and  the 
outdoor  life  —  attempts  to  become  acclimated  and  adopt  good 
old  New  England  'ways.'  " —  Critic. 

"The  story  is  full  of  life  and  movement  and  presents  a  variety 
of  interesting  characters." —  St.  Paul  Despatch. 

THE  ROAD    TO   LE   REVE 

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domitable resolution  to  carry  to  success  an  altruistic  undertak- 
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sparkling  humor  that  offsets  its  more  serious  phases." —  Spring- 
field Republican. 

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great  outdoors  and  adventures  that  thrill.  The  dialogue  is 
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that  holds  the  reader's  interest  to  the  end." — New  York  Sun. 

MAN   PROPOSES;   Or,   The   Romance   of   John 

Alden  Shaw. 

By  ELIOT  ROBINSON. 

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picture  of  high  social  life  in  Newport,  where  many  of  the  inci- 
dents of  the  plot  are  staged  in  the  major  part  of  the  book." — 
The  Bookman. 

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NOVELS  BY 

MRS.  HENRY  BACKUS 

THE  CAREER  OF  DOCTOR  WEAVER 

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of  the  story  is  the  way  its  author  has  torn  aside  the  curtain 
and  revealed  certain  phases  of  the  relation  between  the  medical 
profession  and  society." —  Dr.  Charles  Reed  in  the  Lancet  Clinic. 

THE  ROSE   OF  ROSES 

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NOVELS  BY 

MARGARET  R.  PIPER 
SYLVIA'S  EXPERIMENT:  The  Cheerful  Book 

Trade"""  — Mark 

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SYLVIA  OF  THE  HILL  TOP:  The  Second  Cheerful 

Book  Trade~Mark 

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MISS   MADELYN   MACK,  DETECTIVE 
By  HUGH  C.  WEIR. 

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track  of  mystery  stories." —  New  York  Sun. 


LIST  OP  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 
HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

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and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  envi- 
able place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imag- 
inative and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers," — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTTTHOTTS  CAHEEB  IK  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FIKAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  or 
His  KIND.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  inter- 
est old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know- 
animals  and  those  who  do  not." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates 
and  many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal 

stories  that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done." — John 

Burroughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."  With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from 
drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.0<* 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  ro- 
bust in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  o* 
woodcraft.  Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Rob- 
erts occupies  an  enviable  place," — The  Outlook, 


THE   PAGE   COMPANY'S 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-page  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Smith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .         .         .         .         .     $1.50 
"  Every  paragraph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  in  a  few- 
words   the   appeal   of   the   vast,   illimitable   wilderness." — The 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in 
Mr.  Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion 
all  their  own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and 
supplementing  the  pen  pictures  of  the  author." — Literary 
Digest. 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .         .         .         .         .     $1.50 
"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  liter- 
ary color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama." — New  York 
Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub- 
lished in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the 
addition  of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.  In 
'  Earth's  Enigmas'  is  a  wider  range  of  subjects  than  in  the 
'  Kindred  of  the  Wild.' " — Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the 
illustrated  edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening 
Post. 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts 
lures  us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of 
Nature  and  by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human 
character." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  very  fine  novel.  We  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  ... 
one  of  the  books  that  stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imag- 
ination, and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory  long  after  the 
covers  are  closed." — Literary  World,  Boston. 


LIST   OF   FICTION 


THE  PRISONER  OF  MADEMOISELLE 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia, — a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  de- 
light,— of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden, 
who  first  captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger, 
more  innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its  literary  quality  is  im- 
peccable. It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into 
even  temporary  existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears 
a  breath  of  charm." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  12mo,  decorative  cover       .....      $1.50 

*'  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  daya."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commer- 
cial Advertiser. 

THE    FORGE    IN    THE   FOREST 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe",  and 
of  his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .  .  »  .  .  $1.50 
A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

BY   THE   MARSHES   OF    MINAS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

•workmanship. 

A   SISTER    TO   EVANGELINE 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre\ 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .       c       .      $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  pas- 
sion, and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  noveL 


10  THE  PAGE   COMPACTS 

WORKS  OF 

GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO 

Signer  d'Annunzio  is  known  throughout  the  world  as  a  poet 
and  a  dramatist,  but  above  all  as  a  novelist,  for  it  is  in  his  novels 
that  he  is  at  his  best.  In  poetic  thought  and  graceful  expression 
he  has  few  equals  among  the  writers  of  the  day. 

He  is  engaged  on  a  most  ambitious  work  —  nothing  less  than 
the  writing  of  nine  novels  which  cover  the  whole  field  of  human 
sentiment.  This  work  he  has  divided  into  three  trilogies,  and 
five  of  the  nine  books  have  been  published.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  other  labors  have  interrupted  the  completion  of  the  series. 

"  This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so. 
But  the  realism  is  that  of  Flaubert,  and  not  of  Zola.  There 
is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speaking.  Every 
detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives 
or  the  actions  of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed. 
It  is  deadly  true.  The  author  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences  duplicated  in 
passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as 
all  of  us  know  on  the  first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  '  Ego- 
ist.' Reading  these  pages  is  like  being  out  in  the  country  on 
a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  lightning  comes 
and  every  detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review 
of  "  The  Triumph  of  Death  "  in  the  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

The  volumes  published  are  as  follows.  Each  1  vol.,  library 
12mo,  cloth  .  .  .  .  .  ...  .  .  $1.60 

J* 

THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  ROSB 

THE   CHILD   OF  PLEASURE  (!L  PIACERB). 
THE    INTRUDER  (L'INNOCENTE). 
THE  TRIUMPH   OF    DEATH    (!L    TEIONTO    DELLA 
MOBTE). 

* 
THE   ROMANCES   OF    THE   LILY 

THE   MAIDENS     OF    THE  ROCKS    (LE    VEBGINI 

DELLE   ROCCE). 

Jfl 

THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  POMEGRANATE 
THE  FLAME  OF  LIFE  Oi.  Fcoco). 


University  of  California  Library 
Los  Angeles 

.This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


5-9188 


A     000  049  709     9 


